Jim gave me his bottle of Becherovka, which is that Czech liquor that is sort of one step down from actual absinthe that I love so much. He hates it! What luck! So last night I was grumbling to myself about my fiancé in the Czech Republic being the outright worst fiancé ever and resolved to drink some outta spite... only I forgot... and so I made up for it tonight, which reminded me to grumble some more and sloshed my way over to my blog email to find what sort of abuse awaited....
Lo and behold his excuse has been a crashed computer! So. Fine. He's maybe not the worst fiancé, but at the rate he's becoming wealthy enough to fly me away from this vale of tears we'll both be too dead for it. C'est la goddam vie, I guess. And he will have to try to pluck me from my barn loft bathtub in the wilds of Mr. North's Canada in any case. I am amassing mountains of fabulous warm things to wear there when I'm not in my tub. I'm going to train his draft horses and give riding lessons and sprout things by way of rent....
OR the hot springs of Iceland will get me. That's my plan. When I can't take it any more, I'm selling everything to get to Iceland. I will jump in and not get out until some Icelander adopts me or I die of epic relaxation, whichever comes first.