Believe me when I tell you, as unlikely as it sounds, that we did it out of love. In the end, anyway. When it started, it wasn’t quite that. It wasn’t that we didn’t love Tim; we do, we did, we probably always will, for his genuine enthusiasm at everything, for the cadence of his laugh, for…
For the last few weeks, I’ve been searching for two very specific items that I am sure will improve my life in all sorts of unimaginable ways. The first is a skirt. I am having trouble describing it, but it is one of those skirts with an overlay that comes down over the inner layer,…
When we were last in South Africa, I used the most amazing toilet ever (we saw other stuff, too, like penguins and spring bok and geckos. And yet, this post is about toilets). I also used one of the weirdest toilets ever. It was in the house we rented in Camps Bay, which is not too…
I know this is a WTF Wedsnesday post, and today is Friday. What can I say, folks? Laziness is a hell of a drug. I feel like most normal people are irrationally scared of at least one harmless animal. I speak not of rational fears, mind you. I think it’s totally reasonable to fear…
“I can’t figure out what this is.” “It’s … slimy.” “I can’t cut anything.” “Cut? I’ve just been using my hands.” “Speaking of hands, Geraldine, keep yours to yourself.” “GOD DAMN IT, JON. Lisa, I swear, I’m not touching him.” ————— I have heard that if you take one sense away, the others rush…
I would like to take a moment to talk about durian. I have to. I have spent the larger part of the morning working on a post about the Khmer Rouge, and I very much need a mental break, and talking about stinky fruit will allow for that to happen. So. Durian. The stuff is…
My presumption with any warning sign, or really any sign at all, is that it exists for a reason. Like, you wouldn’t put a warning sign that says “Watch Your Step!” unless a dozen or so people had tripped on that particular spot. No sign, I figure, is unsolicited or unprovoked. Which is why the…
Sometimes I think I have the maturity level of an 11-year-old. Other times, I am absolutely convinced of it. We’ll be walking around someplace beautiful, and instead of taking in the amazing architecture or historical significance of the place, I’ll be doubled over, laughing hysterically because there are two stray cats getting it on in…
“Is … is that a peacock?” Rand asked me as we walked through the village. “Where?” “Over there, by the church.” “I highly doubt it,” I said, squinting in the direction he was pointing. “I don’t think that-” And then I saw it. “Yup,” I said. “That’s definitely a peacock.”
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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