Yogurt-dipped mornings, alcohol-soaked evenings

Here are two excerpts from emails I sent to Scott. In the first one, I reveal my true dorkiness:

“Today, as in the next few days to come, Melissa and I had the incredible hotel breakfast of meats and cheeses and pastries and cereals and eggs and other meats and yoghurts (with an h!). I enjoyed a small yoghurt beverage, just to see how the natives liquefy their yogurt. I thought it was unflavored, but then I tasted it and realized it was a berry-flavored delight; after inspection I saw a tiny image of a strawberry on the label. Melissa and I discussed how if this were American packaging there would be an enormous anthropomorphized strawberry wearing shades and skateboarding across the label, and it would be called EXTREME STRAWBERRY BLAST, and this was so funny to me at that moment that yoghurt drink almost came out of my nose.

Look how much has happened, and it’s still breakfast.”

And then I try to redeem myself with more adult-style beverage choices:

“Well, here's the email you knew would show up eventually: the one where I'm completely drunk. Hi, sweetheart! Baby had some drinks! We went out with a reader of our blogs, a gorgeous Swede named Monica, who took us to a tiny bar crammed with locals and proceeded to charm the pants right off of all of us. And I really liked those pants. We enjoyed much jenever (pronounced ye-NAV-er--these Dutch say everything all funny), which is sweet and many-flavored (I had applecake, blackberry, prune, and maybe more but everything gets fuzzy after that), and because it’s so sweet you really have to have it with beer. So I had many of them! With beer! And then on to another pub, where I had more beer. The jenever is actually not particularly strong, but the thing is, it fools you into thinking, hmm, it's like cider! Or a lovely medicine of some sort! And then you can't stand upright.”

Not surprisingly, I ended that last email with “I love you so much I'm crying.” This is why I don’t drink more. Melissa.