The Zoégas kaffe went above and beyond the call of duty waking me up this morning. While I was settling in for a day of writing – computer on lap, headphones thumpin’, mug ‘o joe making its way to my lips – I spilled hot liquid down my shirt. I spewed dirty expletives in English (99%) and Swedish (1%) as I ran to the kitchen, seeking comfort in anything cold to reduce the throbbing of my chest. Pressing a wet towel against my bare skin, I started singing Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me”.
The Rebecca Emily of my brain muttered: “You’re an odd duck, sister.”
The Bek of my brain fiercely retorted: “Card carrying member and proud of it, asshole.”
I enjoy carrying the card, being president of the club, the loudest singer in the choir. I embrace getting along but not entirely fitting in. I get off on exploring unchartered terrain and devouring new food for the soul.
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Skål!
Bek
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