Cafe Paris

Palmer and I returned to the scene of the crime today, Cafe Paris. Palmer was only slightly better behaved, insisting on taking off his shirt and then yelling every time he was about to drift off to sleep (about every 5 minutes or so). But he stayed on my lap, so I was happy. Funny how little difference it makes to me how bad he can be sometimes, because I always know the reason why. He's tired, he's hungry, he's stressed out. 

Anyhow, I enjoyed the chance to people watch, even with a sleepy wiggle worm on my lap. So many ladies downtown had on the nicest dresses, and this is just adding to the building realization that I must go shopping soon. Nothing in my closet fits, really, well, except a few things that are now mostly worn out. When we went into Victors and I saw even that place has been redecorating, I thought this was also a sign that my wardrobe is in need of updating. 

The colleague visiting me--her first time in Iceland--had perhaps a slightly less favorable opinion of Reykjavik ladies. This was primarily caused by the fact that shortly after I dropped her off, a lady grabbed her at the public bathroom and insisted she act as the missing door, so that the repairman would not see her pee. Ah, to be high at 11am on a Wednesday. 

When she told me this story at Cafe Paris, Palmer's behavior took on a whole new light. Why, we are downright civilized, us two.   

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