I Don’t Care

notquiteold

I love it when I remember something I didn’t even know I remembered.

Yesterday a crazy memory bubbled up from somewhere in my addled storage facility.

Years ago I took an evening art class – Watercolor Painting.  (Sometimes I wish I were British so I could type Watercolour. Isn’t that classy?  And I’d say “Whilst” too.  And “Zed.” And  “I chatted him up in the tube because I fancied him.” And “Wanker.”)

But anyway…

I took this Watercolor class, and we sat two-by-two at tables.  I usually sat with a woman my age – which wasn’t old then because it was a long time ago – but it wasn’t exactly young either. But once in a while I sat next to a young guy. (a young “bloke” – I really want to be British. Can I be British as a New Year’s Resolution? Like “I resolve to be thinner…

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