A colleague of mine shows up in a (way too) tight orange shirt. He’s Dutch. And the Dutch are playing Italy at Euro cup. He’s also stocky (is that a polite way to say chubby?) and the Dutch-orange shirt is stretched to the point of bursting over some of his ungainly curvatures. The shirt has been through many previous Dutch sports endeavors, judging by its fading colors and stains of drink and food prominent on the belly area. Comical or not, he’s bouncing all over the office, beaming a victorious smile at fellow Italians, when the Dutch embarrass Italy 3-0. I’d be joyous too. I love seeing the cocky Italians brought to the ground, or rather buried under it. But the sight of this human example of the Dutch anti-propaganda running around the office spoils my evil anti-Italian football sentiment. I almost feel sorry for the Azzurri.
Such an enormous heat as we have since Friday has to end up with a bang. So it does! Thunderstorms roll in and knock out the power and we have a very romantic nightcap under candlelights. Of course, we can’t remember which lights were left switched on, and try as we might to switch them all off, I’m woken after midnight by the light of our alarm clock, which always comes on full blast when the power returns. Its digits stare at me from the bright display and chase me out of the bed to survey the other lights which came on around the house. Turns out we were too eager switching off the lights in the dark, and now there are a few on the ground floor shining happily for no reason. When I’m back in bed, I’m properly awake. The alarm clock gets a whack that dims its grinning display. If only the sleep would come over me soon…
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