Bijou can't spell.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Diddly Dreaming.

While exploring the streets of some foreign land with a remarkable but oddly not exact resemblance to Rio de Janeiro I lost one of the nine rings with which I had adorned my right hand's middle finger (insert sad face).

The last I remembered of it was while I was engulfed in a complete and utter state of choc-whiskey induced excitement... An entire grocery store shelf dedicated to the glorious stuff. I chose the 90% dark chocolate whiskey slab by the fine chocolatier, Kindt, how delightfully ironic.

My investigative determination kicked in instantly as I left the friend’s house, now in what seemed like Woodstock Cape Town - a pre-party for whatever usual weekend debauchery was to follow, and retraced my steps back down the dusky orange-hazed streets of not-quite Rio. This ring, I should add, was like no other ring I had found before hence my need to recover its splendour - a little squirrel sitting atop its hill under which a garden of nibble daisies twists and turns. It's a wonder such a ring managed to fit my skinny fingers.

It remains a mystery as to whether that ring was found, however what I do recall before Monday morning smacked me in the face with a stomach ache, was I so fancily sprinkled the streets with sparkling grey fairy dust thanks to one of the other pretty fantastic rings I had managed to keep on its designated finger.

(I attempted to draw a picture of this marvelous ring but it landed up looking more like a circle with an obscene growth.)