les bulles

Even though I am 105 I’m not very mature.

(Although my skin is starting to admit to being over the yardarm and bits of me need a good iron and stronger elastic, and also (and isn’t it a complete bind) I suddenly can’t see close up!)

Where was I?

Ah yes being adult, I just don’t seem to have it in me.

I still walk on walls, do cartwheels in the park (I haven’t got anywhere flat in my garden), splash in puddles and use the wrong vocabulary for a grown up.

Himself, who was born an old soul, finds me equally endearing and embarrassing and completely untrustworthy when it comes to keeping my mouth shut at ‘official’ function type things.

The words are out before the brain is anywhere near.

At the last do we went to, the chap I was seated next to pointed out to me the shininess of the Chief Constable's shoes. These were patent leather dress shoes and they were very, very shiny.

“It’s so he can look up ladies' skirts” I said in that deathly lull you get in conversations.

Poor Himself.

The direness of my sadly lacking adultness was brought home to me just now, by reading a comment on the blog of MM.

The commenter commented that when requesting a bottle of water, she was asked, with or without bubbles? (Or to quote exactly “avec ou sans bulles” – (now see, isn’t that just wonderful? I love that - if it had been me, I'd have said OOOOO lovely, beaucoup les bubbles please!)) The commenter however, was less amused as she was “an adult for goodness sake”.

(I hope if she reads this, she won’t be offended. None is intended!)

Me, I think ‘bubbles’ is a GREAT (onomatopoeic) word.

I LOVE bubbles. In water, in wine, in tonic, in the bath, in chocolate, in the air. I love blowing them and can never resist buying those little pots with the

bubble wands.

Avec les bulles pour moi every time s’il vous plait!