Saturday Night Fever

Finding boots that will fit my rather "athletic" calves is always a struggle. So I stick to what works for me. Marina Rinaldi. Again. I bought this particular pair in Barcelona ages ago. Funny thing, these seem to have GROWN in my closet. Normally my clothes just shrink on their shelves, but these boots are now suddenly far too wide for me. I really should start searching for some new and tighter ones. In the mean time, they actually do work with my jeans tucked into them. A combo that does NOT look good on ANYONE, but wading around in the snow in Oslo these days, I have to sacrifice my fashion sense and go for sensible. I know I look like an idiot, but I stay warm and the hems of my jeans do not get all wet in the snow.

This weekend we were flying out to see our new niece, who was born last Saturday. I have been looking forward to seeing her since, well, I guess since I first heard about her, in May last year. That is, even before I even knew that she was - in fact - a she. Of course, that goes without saying, I have already bought her her very first pair of shoes. White Mary Janes. Size 17. Very tiny and very cute. Just like her. Anyway. Thing is, we are in the middle of the flu season. So life is a bit unpredictable. Husband fell ill on Wednesday. Meaning that it would just be a question of time before I got it. So, not a good time to be visiting a newborn baby, carrying all those viruses around. Sad.

Being in the middle of the year-end reporting, I forced myself to work with a slight fever for two days and expected the flu to come out in it's full glory on Friday night in front of the television. So that I could spend just my weekend being ill and not harm my invoicing ratio. Would be painful this early on in the budget, you know. Strange, though, how I can actually manage to trick my body. Although it tries to tell me to stay in bed, I just ignore all the signals. And, you know what? It seems to work pretty well. At least for a while it does.

When my London friend calls me on Friday evening telling me that she is coming to Oslo on a surprise visit the following day, I have a serious conversation with my body. The "being sick this weekend" plan is cancelled. Fortunately, with some help from my good old friend Ms. Paracetamol, it obeys. Reluctantly, but still. So, I manage to go to the big A-ha farewell exhibition with my mum on Saturday morning. And meet up with Miss London at my favorite restaurant in Oslo for lunch. The Brasserie France. A bit like Lipp in Paris, just without the obnoxious waiters.

Time flies in good company. Lunch lasted for three hours. With a glass of champagne and an update on what life has thrown at us for the last four months. Which turned out to be quite a lot. Then we hit the shops for an hour, before my friend had to go and get dressed for her surprise birthday party attendance out in the woods outside Oslo.

I got home. Crawled under a blanket on the sofa. And passed out. Husband forced me to check my temperature. Ouch. My body had stopped listening to me. Now I definitely had a fever.

Just have to get well in 24 hours, and I will be alright.


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