Admittedly, I am less fishy, but I do feel as if I’m slowly morphing into a sea creature. Germany cannot decide which season it wants to have. For every day the sun shines, there are three that turn the just dried earth back into swampland, and walking in the woods is sometimes more akin to mudsliding (which I personally feel should be an Olympic sport). The other day, the sun snuck out for a few hours, prompting me to pack up and enjoy “On the Road” in the garden. Later, I failed to bring Jack back inside with me, which I only realized when a strange rushing noise alerted me to the fact that we had just entered another monsoon minute. He then spent a couple of days in the bathroom next to the heater, being weighed down by a rather large bible, in order to both dry the pages and dewrinkle the cover.
By the time I decided to enjoy a mandarin-scented, saffron-colored bath, he had recovered well enough, and so, as I slid underneath a mountaineous pile of soapy bubbles, I took my well washed tome with me. Considering the ominous forecast for the next couple of days, I fully expect to make up for lost time.