Yesterday I woke up around 7 am and knew it was going to be a day best spent in pyjamas. At a less un-godly hour I cancelled Girl 2's flute lesson (which was to be exceptionally on a Sunday at 11), making lame excuses in French. (Note to Self: find out good French euphanisms for total mental exhaustion.) It was a cold, windy, wintry day and fortunately we'd arranged in advance for one of Girl 2's friends to come over. I managed to make them croque monsieurs* and allowed them all -- Girl 1, Girl 2 and friend -- to borrow my shoes. It's lucky that I have so many black high-heeled shoes!
Around 4 pm it started snowing -- really storming, and the snow began to stick. There was maybe half an inch of accumulation. The girls were all excited and made snowballs on our (very) small terrace. They wanted to run around in the communal garden, like some other wackos were doing, but it was storming. (And in fact, the airport closed for a while.) Poor things, they don't know the difference between nice snow and nasty snow. This was nasty. But they see so little snow, they think it's all nice.
Friend stayed until 6 pm or so. I worked on a short story, generated some word count, and practiced my cello. G1 and G2 practiced their instruments, played computer games, and eventually went to bed.
I stayed up and watched a scary show on the BBC called "Survivor", where everyone gets the flu and dies except for about 10 people.
Going out, I find, is really overrated.
*= grilled cheese sandwiches