Bubbles!

For years I’ve had a strange and abnormal addiction. I’ve trudged through snow, rain and hail in order to feed it. I’ve spent my hard-earned cash to make sure I had enough of it. When I chased my strawberry milk dragon, world war three couldn’t keep me away from the drug store.

But now I have a new addiction: bubble baths.

My new flat sports a shiny, white bathtub. I remember the very first time we met. It was a lovely Monday afternoon. The landlady was showing me the apartment, walking behind me and letting me open doors and snooping around, just like they do on those reality shows where they sell houses. Because it gives the impression that the apartment is bigger than it really is. Although it didn’t seem any smaller on the way out, when I walked last. But what do I know? I’m not a realtor. And they did say so on TV, so it must be true.

But I digress.

There I was, opening the bathroom door and there It was, sitting pretty in a corner, looking all white and shiny. It was love at first sight, it was.

Once I’d moved in, I promised myself two things.
1 – my tub would always, always, always be clean and shiny.
2 – I would muster up some self-restraint. After all, it takes a lot of electricity to heat up all that water, and electricity is ridiculously expensive around here and I am, after all, a poor, starving student.

I’ve been able to live up to nr 1 just fine. Mostly because the tub is more often filled with soapy water than not… Those little specs of dust flying around doesn’t have time to land there before they’re washed away. And when the tub is empty, I find myself looking at it, picturing it with water and bubbles and me, happily splashing around.

So my self restraint has gone out the window, the way that my self restraint usually does. Why would it be different this time? I might starve to death during the winter, but at least I’ll smell nice.

Chasing that pink dragon

I had an appointment to go get my hair all pretty and shiny on Monday. It was about time, as tall people were now able to see my natural haircolor. Filled with joy and excitement, I skipped across the bridge and down the hill to where the salon is.

“Closed every Monday,” said the sign on the door.

Still, the hair dresser had clearly told me Monday on the 21st. I waited. And I waited, and waited and waited, but no one came. I even peeked through the windows, into the darkness beyond the L’OREAL posters, to see if maybe she was hiding under the desk.

It seemed clear that nobody would be making my hair all pretty and shiny, so I started to walk home. As I passed by the store, my stomach grumbled a bit, and I decided to go inside to buy a sandwich, or something. I spotted them quickly, stuffed full of chicken and lettuce and sitting on a shelf. And between them and me, behind the glass doors of the refrigerator, stood my old demon – strawberry milk.

Someone had come up with the clever idea, that you could fill plastic straws with strawberry milk powder which would then flavour the milk. I was just going to look at them, I thought, as I walked over. As I came closer, I could spot my own reflection in the glass. My hair looking distinctly un-pretty and un-shiny. Before I even knew what I was doing, I’d opened the door and placed a box of the straws in my little plastic basket.

“This is wrong,” I thought, but didn’t put them back.

So now I’m dealing with my strawberry milk addiction again. I know how it’s going to play out. The way it always does. I will gulp down the stuff until I can’t even look at anything pink without feeling violently sick. After I reach that point, it will continue for about a week. Then it’ll be over.

For now…

Pic by sindrityr for www.flickr.com

The strawberry demon

It all started on Thursday, really. At the store. I was hungry, and you shouldn’t shop for groceries when you’re hungry, I’m completely aware of that, but it fitted into my schedule so perfectly. The store is right across the street from the station, where my buss stops. Otherwise, I’d have to go to the marked in Hellhole, which is all the way on the other side of the river. Granted, it’s not far, and it’s not as if I’d have to swim across, or anything, but still… It would have been Out Of My Way. That’s right: with capital letters.

So there I was, drifting up and down between the isles, with my stomach making all sorts of suggestions about what I should put in my little, blue basket. Most of which, I ignored.

All of a sudden, something caught my eye. It wasn’t prominently placed in any way, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was bright pink and placed right in between several large bags of white stuff, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

It was strawberry milk powder.

Pensive, I picked it up. After having looked at it for a while, studied both sides of the packet and weighed it in my hand, I put it in my shopping basket along with the eggs, bread and a carton of milk.

Half and hour later I was home, feeling completely exhausted. It had already started to get dark outside. Wanting to relax, I stuck a DVD into the machine and made myself a tall glass of strawberry milk. It was pink, and although I’m not a huge fan of pink, it looked nice. And it tasted nice. And then I drank more. And more. And by Friday night, the milk was gone… But there was still more powder left. Lots of it. Potential strawberry goodness just waiting to be completed.

On Saturday, it started to snow. “I don’t want to go to the store today,” I though. After all, the only thing that I was out of, was milk. But at the same time, there was a little, nagging voice inside my head. That voice wanted more of the strawberry stuff. Eventually, I gave in. By then, the snowflakes from earlier that morning, had grown and were now more balls then they were flakes.

I put on boots, my coat, a scarf and my new gloves and headed towards the bridge, while my mind was playing with pictures of pink liquid in tall glasses. Every time I walked underneath a tree or a lamppost, they would drop cold, wet lumps of snow on my head, but I just kept right on walking. Why? Because I had a goal, dammit.

Over the weekend I gobbled up enough milk to dry up a full-grown cow.

Today I think I’m over the worst of it. A slight feeling of nausea has begun to tickle the back of my throat when I look at that brightly coloured pink packet in my cupboard. I will beat this demon. Yes, I will.



Strawberry pic by Social Advances for Flickr.com
Snowflake pic by Captpiper for Flickr.com