Lessons I’m being taught (I)

We are sitting at the bar, sipping on our half empty glasses of Cabernet, me furiously rambling about my day when, out of nowhere, she stops me in the middle of the sentence and tells me to take my diary out of my bag. I put my glass down and quietly conform. She then asks for a pen and a bit of paper, writes down the days we’re supposed to be working together and tells me not to worry or stress about anything on those days, as she will try to make them easier by cooking lunch for me and having it wait in the fridge by the time noon rolls around.

I finish my glass of wine and order another one. It’s Friday evening after all.


~ by Andra on 27/10/2012.

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