Yes, stuff like this happens in real life, too.

So you think you’re the only one that totally bizarre stuff happens to? Think again.

Yesterday, around noon, I was searching for my cellphone. A friend was coming over, we were waiting for confirmation, that kind of thing. (The friend came by and the evening was lovely, by the way.)

After searching all my various bags, jackets, pockets and the shelf next to the door, I was getting a little worried. Next step: use landline to locate mobile by ringing it. Shockingly, this did not result in me hearing my phone. Images of my poor phone lying abandoned in a ditch or floating in a sewer filled my mind. (Neither fear is entirely unfounded, I once… eh… lost… a phone in the toilet.) Then, relief, a faint ringing. Very faint. Suspiciously faint. I haven’t been in any of the neighbouring flats in like, forever, but if I had been, I would have assumed that I’d left my phone at the neighbours’.

I go to the bathroom: still faint. Bedroom: faint faint faint. Living room: not audible. Which leaves the kitchen. It’s a little louder in here, but nowhere as loud as it should be. The signal cuts off as my mailbox kicks in. I redial. A faint, scary suspicion is growing in my mind. Plingpling… my ringtone is back, still very faint. (My ringtone is The Promise by Michael Nyman; according to xkcd I should be ashamed of myself.) Jonas is one step ahead of me. Same suspicion, quicker reflexes: he opens the fridge.

Yes, you heard that right: the fridge. And the sound of my phone is suddenly that much louder. Upon opening the vegetable compartment it grows louder still. There, inside a bag full of courgettes, coriander and corn, rests my cellphone. Jonas has a laughing fit.

And the moral of our tale is that my phone is a lot more sturdy than an iPhone, because although it was literally drenched in perspiration and cooled down to almost zero degrees for 48 hours, it continues to be in excellent health.

Also: I should be more careful with my personal belongings when I go grocery shopping.

The Green Grasshopper

g

This was lying in front of our hotel room the other week. I shudder to think of what they look like when they are jumping towards your face on the beach. Yes, you guessed right, it is the Bright Green Grasshoper From Hell. And yes, it is as big as it looks, ten centimeters I’d say. That’s about three inches for all our friends out there who have not yet embraced the comforts of the metric system.

For me, metric system or not, that is about four magnitudes of yucky too much.

Later we also saw a live one. I even gathered enough guts to take a picture (holding the camera very far away from me, resisting the temptation of tying it to a long stick).

Sometimes I am happy to be living in a country that has no specimens of insectoid megafauna on special offer. But only sometimes. Like when the Bright Green Grasshoper From Hell is on a collision course with my nose.

More Green Things (this time also edible)

g

They are called Pringles Sabor A Limón. The husband hates them. I love them. You don’t get stuff like that in Germany. Neither in Greece, and I think Husband is proud of that. Poor deluded soul.
What?
How do they taste?
Mhm… imagine biting into a Pringle-shaped object that tastes like a mixture between a potato chip and some very intense lime cake.
Very good, I think you’re almost there.
Add a little more sweetness, go easy on the potato.
Got it?
No? Let me see.
Ah…
Just a tiny little bit more lime.
There.
Tastes good, doesn’t it?
Yeah, I agree.