The day after
Yesterday was Norway's "Independence Day", and every little Norwegian were out in the rain and cold to celebrate us being free from every other country.
And today, the party's over.. and I can feel it just slightly pulsating in my temples. It's not a lot of fun being sat at work today, to be honest. I was actually sat outside (!!) yesterday, at a place called Lekter'n with a friend in the seeping rain. We started off freshly with a Bellini, but we quickly discovered that it was hot drinks that were the right ones for the weather, so we changed to a Hot Lumumba (not exactly recommended, should've been more cocoa and less rum in that one..), and it was here that the Irish Coffee made its entry. One of us stopped at this point, wisely enough, she'd had enough after the Lumumba thing, and kept going with a hot chocolate, straight up. To put it like this, there were others (meaning me) that should've stopped there as well. We got company by friend no. 2, and even though I'd actually decided that the Irish Coffee would be the last, I kept going with a Coffee Bailey's. Well, I couldn't let friend no. 2 sit there and drink on her own. That's me; the ever-caring friend. ;o) We left the bar, and started eating ice cream. That's part of the celebration, no matter how God damn fucking freezing it is.
When the time closed on 5pm, we all took the bus back to my house and fell into the sofa with white wine. I had a box of 3 litres of the stuff, so there was nothing holding us back (except our good judgement, but that had left us somewhere between the Hot Lumumba and the first ice cream). The wine flowed freely as it should when you're eating shrimp, and even after both dinner and dessert (yes, more ice cream) had been eaten, we returned again to the sofas with our glasses of wine.
Both friends left the scene of crime around 11pm, and lightly intoxicated I managed to unfold myself from my bunad (don't ask, it's a Norwegian thing), still with my dignity intact, and called my husband-to-be. I suppose he understood something was going on when his otherwise sweet and proper fiancée giggling suggested that she removed his uniform (he was telling me this is something he'd have to wear if he got a job with another company) when he came home from work. And this being said without blushing or showing signs of remorse. He's probably going to get me drunk to provoke the same reaction in the future... help, I'm a little alcoholic waiting to happen.
And today, the party's over.. and I can feel it just slightly pulsating in my temples. It's not a lot of fun being sat at work today, to be honest. I was actually sat outside (!!) yesterday, at a place called Lekter'n with a friend in the seeping rain. We started off freshly with a Bellini, but we quickly discovered that it was hot drinks that were the right ones for the weather, so we changed to a Hot Lumumba (not exactly recommended, should've been more cocoa and less rum in that one..), and it was here that the Irish Coffee made its entry. One of us stopped at this point, wisely enough, she'd had enough after the Lumumba thing, and kept going with a hot chocolate, straight up. To put it like this, there were others (meaning me) that should've stopped there as well. We got company by friend no. 2, and even though I'd actually decided that the Irish Coffee would be the last, I kept going with a Coffee Bailey's. Well, I couldn't let friend no. 2 sit there and drink on her own. That's me; the ever-caring friend. ;o) We left the bar, and started eating ice cream. That's part of the celebration, no matter how God damn fucking freezing it is.
When the time closed on 5pm, we all took the bus back to my house and fell into the sofa with white wine. I had a box of 3 litres of the stuff, so there was nothing holding us back (except our good judgement, but that had left us somewhere between the Hot Lumumba and the first ice cream). The wine flowed freely as it should when you're eating shrimp, and even after both dinner and dessert (yes, more ice cream) had been eaten, we returned again to the sofas with our glasses of wine.
Both friends left the scene of crime around 11pm, and lightly intoxicated I managed to unfold myself from my bunad (don't ask, it's a Norwegian thing), still with my dignity intact, and called my husband-to-be. I suppose he understood something was going on when his otherwise sweet and proper fiancée giggling suggested that she removed his uniform (he was telling me this is something he'd have to wear if he got a job with another company) when he came home from work. And this being said without blushing or showing signs of remorse. He's probably going to get me drunk to provoke the same reaction in the future... help, I'm a little alcoholic waiting to happen.
posted by Lady Lovelylocks at 10:40 AM
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