In which I completely fail at being a wife

So there I am, on the train, heading down to meet Kevin and Tracy so we can go to the bar. Because we're going out, 'on the town' as the kids say, I'm dressed up really pretty. Lips, eyes, stockings, the full deal.

So on the train. I'm sitting right up front, because seeing things from the very front is still a novelty to me, and this fellow sitting near by leans into my field of vision and says:

"How's it going?"

"What?" I say.

"How's it going?" he repeats.

"Oh, good," I say.

Small talk goes on like this for a few minutes. I find out his name is Dana ("Like Dada, but with a N."), he's from Tanzania, and studied law in England (though you wouldn't be able to tell by the level of his English), but wasn't practicing in Canada. He finds out I'm off to visit friends and I'm from a small interior town.

"So what's in that town?" he asks, angling. "Family? Parents? Boyfriend? Husband?"

"My parents live there," I say evasively. I know what he's getting at.

 "You are very pretty," he says, reaching out and almost touching me. "And clean," he adds, approvingly, and withdraws his hand. "I like a woman like that."

"....thank you," I say.

"Husband? Boyfriend?" he asks again.

I smile a little and look at him sideways. "That's none of your business."

"Awww, come now!" he says.

"Nope," I say.

"But I need to find a good woman! I want to have babies!" he exclaims with despair.

"Well," I say reasonably, "have you tried internet dating?"

"Oh, no, I don't do internet dating," he says, and leans in conspiratorally. "They're all SERIAL killers."

"...women you meet on the internet are serial killers?" I ask.

"Yes! They meet you and then they kill you, and then they plead insanity and spend two years in a mental hospital! Then they go free, and I'm still dead!"

"I seeeeee..."

"I need to have babies..."

~

In other news, I made baguettes!

And by 'I made baguettes' I really mean 'I completely failed to make baguettes'.

Note to self:

When making bread, do not get distracted.

For a whole day.

That would probably help next time.

Anyway, I decided it was Dwarven Fighting Bread. It was certainly hard enough to be so. I ate some of the soft bits out of the middle and it was actually quite tasty, but yeah. Hard. It would have been a good bread to drop in soup.

As it was, I dropped it in the garbage.

So...yeah. Never gonna be a French housewife.

Sorry, Dana.