Friday, September 18, 2009

Copenhagen Jane

I am now the "proud" new owner of a bag of loose-leaf tobacco. I don't even know if "lose-leaf" is a term that can be applied to tobacco. I am more of a tea drinker than a chain-smoker. Where should I keep it? Oh, I know! How about right next to the gigantic bottle of wine I got as a gift? All I need now is a box of condoms, and I'll have a trifecta.

How did I come to own this bag of stinky? Well, I'm glad you asked. A wasp stung me between my toes. Yes, between my toes. As I calmly pulled her out of my flesh and watched her fly away I thought, "Well, at least I know a solution to this problem: a cigarette." First, finish your business at the bank. Now, to figure to bum a cigarette. At this point, I am wondering if this is God's way of getting me to meet my neighbors. It's amazing how this sort of situation makes you drop your inhibitions.

I rang at Nachbar's house. I'm sure they smoke, and I have actually spoken to them before in my life. Too bad they aren't home at the moment. I tried the next floor. They were confused and tried to answer the main house door. I was too flustered and busy laughing at them to ring again. I felt a little like Mary at the reception desk. On the next floor, and angry-looking, rotund girl answered the door, not exactly looking like a "person of peace." I asked in My Toe Hurts so I Sound like a Two Year Old German if I could have a cigarette, and Lying Neighbor said she is fresh out. LN also wreaked of cigarettes. Still flustered, I forgot to offer her a euro for one. ("Oh, we just got a delivery!") I didn't want to take the time to explain, "I don't smoke. It's for my foot. A bee bit me." That's as close I could have gotten to explaining the situation, so I have it up and run-hobbled to the grocery store, the frenzied look of an addict gleaming in my eyes. If you've seen how my skin reacts to, well, anything, you can imagine how swollen it is at this point. The clerk helped me find some tobacco.

"I need the cheapest box of cigarettes."
"Well, these cigarettes are... and the cigarillos are...."
I start to wonder if there would be a practical difference, given my situation. Then, I regain my focus.
"I really just need the tobacco."
"This one or this one?"
"I'll take that one!"

After the proverbial dust had settled, I searched home remedies for wasp bites, wondering if the tobacco trick works only for bee stings and has some sort of adverse, toe-swelling effect on wasp stings. I found out that ice can help alleviate the pain and swelling. Duh! Ice. Too bad I live in Europe and have no ice. Actually, when I lived in the States, I didn't keep ice either. Foreshadowing? Anyway, now I am sitting here thawing frozen beef cubes on my foot and wondering how to get the smell of tobacco off of my fingers.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Ode to Summer

Summer,
You were here yesterday
Now have you gone away
I thought you were here to stay
At least another week.
Did I do something?
Did I offend you?
You seem to have left in a hurry.
I hate wearing socks.