...is what I whined to Stella this morning, prompted by absolutely nothing.
I have a beautiful relationship with sleep, better than a lot of people, I think. I can fall asleep anytime, anywhere, on a moment's notice- and I stay there as long as I need to. I'm spoiled rotten when it comes to sleep; therefore, when sleep doesn't come when I want it or I can't stay asleep, I am a whiney cranky nightmare. Which makes Stella a saint.
Saint's are patient and kind and so is Stella. If she is annoyed by me being annoying she's totally good at covering it up. Used to dealing with small children and babies, Stella handles me perfectly.
"I'm SO tired," I whine.
"Take a nap in my bed, its super comfy!" she answers.
"I don't wannaaa, " I whine.
"Let's work out!" she geniuses. We do.
"I'm COLD." I pout.
"If you put your towel in the dryer while you're in the shower, its super warm by the time you get out!" she enthuses.
"Oooooo!!!" I finally come around.
If you have the means, send her presents. She deserves them.
I discovered this morning that Australians are pragmatic monsters. Beautiful, lovely, generous souls with wonderful senses of humor, but also pragmatic monsters and this is how I discovered it:
I was running on the treadmill in the gym watching some reality TV crime show, a la Cops, without the sound. I'm half paying attention, until I see a beautiful dog in the middle of the highway.
Now, my run should be ending soon, but I keep going because I'm waiting for the happy ending. I'm American. I need a happy ending. I keep running- even as the cop picks up the rag doll body of this poor gorgeous animal. I keep running- even as I watch all the witnesses, one of whom has to be the owner, give pleasent silent testimonials. I wait for crying- nothing. In fact, most of the people are half smiling? The presumed owner shows off a tattoo of her dog on her forearm without looking the least bit upset. I run harder, getting pissed that no one is crying over this dead-looking dog, that I know can't really be dead because WHO PUTS THAT ON TV?
I'm still running- and hyperventilating now because I'm crying as I watch to the bitter end of the segment which DOES NOT INCLUDE ANYTHING RESEMBLING A HAPPY ENDING. Rather, the segment ends on a shot of the dead dog in a ditch and the cop shaking his head, because he actually has a heart and remorse unlike all his witnesses, the people who filmed and edited the segment, and the channel who aired the show.
I'm all for not coddling the children and telling them straight up what's what, but come on.
Okay, off to put my towel in the dryer and actually see some of Sydney for real so you guys don't have to keep reading about my impressions of the inside of Stella's hotel.
I have a beautiful relationship with sleep, better than a lot of people, I think. I can fall asleep anytime, anywhere, on a moment's notice- and I stay there as long as I need to. I'm spoiled rotten when it comes to sleep; therefore, when sleep doesn't come when I want it or I can't stay asleep, I am a whiney cranky nightmare. Which makes Stella a saint.
Saint's are patient and kind and so is Stella. If she is annoyed by me being annoying she's totally good at covering it up. Used to dealing with small children and babies, Stella handles me perfectly.
"I'm SO tired," I whine.
"Take a nap in my bed, its super comfy!" she answers.
"I don't wannaaa, " I whine.
"Let's work out!" she geniuses. We do.
"I'm COLD." I pout.
"If you put your towel in the dryer while you're in the shower, its super warm by the time you get out!" she enthuses.
"Oooooo!!!" I finally come around.
If you have the means, send her presents. She deserves them.
I discovered this morning that Australians are pragmatic monsters. Beautiful, lovely, generous souls with wonderful senses of humor, but also pragmatic monsters and this is how I discovered it:
I was running on the treadmill in the gym watching some reality TV crime show, a la Cops, without the sound. I'm half paying attention, until I see a beautiful dog in the middle of the highway.
Now, my run should be ending soon, but I keep going because I'm waiting for the happy ending. I'm American. I need a happy ending. I keep running- even as the cop picks up the rag doll body of this poor gorgeous animal. I keep running- even as I watch all the witnesses, one of whom has to be the owner, give pleasent silent testimonials. I wait for crying- nothing. In fact, most of the people are half smiling? The presumed owner shows off a tattoo of her dog on her forearm without looking the least bit upset. I run harder, getting pissed that no one is crying over this dead-looking dog, that I know can't really be dead because WHO PUTS THAT ON TV?
I'm still running- and hyperventilating now because I'm crying as I watch to the bitter end of the segment which DOES NOT INCLUDE ANYTHING RESEMBLING A HAPPY ENDING. Rather, the segment ends on a shot of the dead dog in a ditch and the cop shaking his head, because he actually has a heart and remorse unlike all his witnesses, the people who filmed and edited the segment, and the channel who aired the show.
I'm all for not coddling the children and telling them straight up what's what, but come on.
Okay, off to put my towel in the dryer and actually see some of Sydney for real so you guys don't have to keep reading about my impressions of the inside of Stella's hotel.
This is why I don't watch foreign films. I know the hero is going to die.
ReplyDeleteThanks for taking care of our girl, Stella!
ReplyDelete