China

A very dear friend of mine ,who also happens to blow my brains here and there very often has also often spoken about her love of china. China as in real bone china. It's never made much sense to me. I must be the most undomesticated animal God ever made. But somehow it's rubbed off quite a bit, and I'm suddenly finding myself staring at pictures of beautiful fine bone china. This should never have happened. I usually stare at Versace and Chanel and feel dizzy. Dior and Cartier, oh God talk about really needing someone to hold you or you're going to hit the ground. The bags, the shoes, the bling bling, and now... china, of all things. And it's really taking my breath away, it's so damn pretty. Perhaps my aversion to china had something to do with plates, and cups, and dishes... and I love cuisine as long as it's someone else making it. But mugs... I can do that. And they are so awesome, it's going to feel like I'm having tea with the queen or something like that. Although I'd probably prefer a Mr. Big to the Queen. I can just see Mr. Big having china in his house with his red bedroom. Maybe I shouldn't be living here but in NYC on the look out for Mr. Big and not very far away from my dear friend. But then, NYC is not il-Hamrun!