The Godmother reloaded or: A Baptism and a Wedding

At last a friend (Frida) deemed me (trust)worthy enough to become godomother of one of their children! Well, I'm joking but part of me was always a teeeeny bit disappointed and jealous in the past when I found out someone else had been favoured for this prestigious job. Again. Anyway, after having practised at two confirmations which I admit was quite an honour, too, I had the added challenge of holding a squirming 3-months-old. My Mum helpfully shouted "Just try not to drop the baby" after me when I left yesterday morning. I'm proud to report that I didn't. It was an interesting experience altogether and I disvovered a whole new genre of shopping out there. Did you know a baptism candle can cost a whopping €55? I didn't either until I bought one.

As B2 is getting married next Sat. and both the christening and the wedding were/are in Carinthia, I asked my boss to get a week off in order to avoid being stuck in traffic jams and motorway roadworks on two consecutive weekends. Grudgingly, he grated me the favour and here I am in KLU, hoping the weather-gods will be nicer to me than last summer when I spent a truly miserable week home.

Thankfully, that particular cloud of self-pity and overall misery has drifted away since then and chooses to pay only occasional visits now and again, but for the first time, I know what people are on about who claim to want nothing more than peace and quiet in their holiday and the time to finish a book. To think there were times when I read several books a week. At work. Hah, fucking hah! If Amazon.de have a serious decline in revenue this year, you know who's accountable for it.

As every summer, I seized the opportunity to have Flocki, my car, serviced. This turned out to be cheaper than anticipated and the surplus banknotes I had withdrawn from the cashpoint were burning a hole in my pocket so I decided to boost the Carinthian economy a bit. The damage: a pair of black sandals, some knickers, cosmetics and hair stuff and a gorgeous wrap(ish) dress. I wasn't sure whether the clingy material would make my bum look illegal but the shop assistant had obviously been trained well. "Oh no", she purred, "you can afford to wear this dress." Can I have some ego-boos with my dress, please? If anyone was in doubt why this is called retail therapy...