Yesterday was a day off in France, for what I believe is religious reasons. I’m not exactly an expert on days off — working for yourself means a day off is a day you choose to take off — or on religious holidays, since my idea of religion is Starbucks. Anyway, my fiancée was home: that’s the main difference. Apart from that, it was (semi-)business as usual.
I went to the gym in the morning, even though my flu was starting to kick in, got home and had lunch with my fiancée — she’d gone shopping while I was lifting weights: her schedule looked somewhat more constructive than mine right then and there. She spent the beginning of the afternoon cooking dishes for days — again, constructive as hell — while I was digesting/napping/nursing my flu. It’s the real thing, I tell you.
Around 4pm, we slowly emerged — her from piles of food, me from the couch — and headed to a local café to start working (talking about me here). While I was writing one of these posts, she was actually scheduling our next trip to Berlin — end of November, guys, watch out! I’d chosen the table we were sitting at, right next to the outside wall, because it felt really warm when we got in. A couple of hours later, though, I was starting to feel feverish. I don’t know if it was the flu, or the fact that it was getting colder outside, or me becoming outright paranoid, but, either way, it was not good.
So we left and dropped by the movies on the way home — it’s right outside, we had to — to check out a comedy about an innocent guy who gets out of prison and starts doing all the things he was accused of in the first place. The movie takes place in the South of France and everyone is wearing T-shirts, if that. I couldn’t help but tell my fiancée:
- They must be cold right now…
- You know this is a movie, right?
- Yeah, but I mean, these actors shot the damn’ thing, right?
- Clearly, everyone is not as sensitive to the cold as you are!
- Everyone is not sick either!
- Why, are you sick?
I sneezed for effect.