Two weeks. In Cannes. For work.
She enters the condo and says, "You didn't do any cleaning, did you?"
She has no idea that I transform into a 12-year-old when she's gone. There's candy and movies and llamas and marching bands and upside-down trash cans. Then on the day of her return, there's a mad 3-hour scramble to turn a Dadaist masterpiece back into our condo. I don't know how socks get into the spice cabinet, but they do. Anyway, she has no idea what goes down.
Well, she does now. Thank you, blog.
She opens the bedroom window and says, "It smells like boys in here." I say, "Would you prefer if it smelled like girls? And what do you mean boyS? What do you think goes on around here?"
Let us not dwell on that.
|Dwell on this, the Flying Llama. (Source)|
This going to be a great month for whisky reportin'. Tomorrow begins a series on World Whiskies! I've got yer Irish, Swedish, Dutch, Indian (two actually!), American, and maybe something from the land of the Scots.
If there's any time left over in April, I'll be exploring cheap Scotch blends. My bottle of Black & White is nearing its retirement (not a moment too soon) and I'm determined to find a quality Scotch blend in the $15-$20 range.
But first, tomorrow, the viski voyage begins on the island to the west of the Irish Sea.
Ireland. I'm talking about Ireland.