oh well, whatever rocks your boat

david came back from his fencing class bursting in excitement.

“honey,” he said “i learned a new move. it’s called a repost. soon, i will be able to defend your honour with a sword.”

he was kidding, of course. this is the 21st century. if there is an honour worth defending, people sue people in court for that. or, people blog about it (it is amazing how the blogsphere has evolved!).

it was never clear to me why david took up fencing lessons. i am very much sure it has nothing to do about defending me or my honour or what is left of it, really. he has long realized i can bloody defend myself, saved for the cockroaches of which still scare me to death.

david is so traditionally “english” and by that i do not mean to imply by dating an english bloke i have become expert on understanding the locals of the country that has the most distressing weather (well, maybe, next to Denmark). but after reading 20 or so agatha christie novels (not to mention the short stories), one cannot help but shaped up an impression of how the english behaved during those times.

and i was not referring to the eccentric qualities to commit cold-blooded murder.

i fancy i can blame it to agatha christie the fact that i rarely put trust on people these days. i swear if i would commit murder now, i can honestly get away with it. her methods are just so…so… exceptional.

but going back to david and his fencing lessons, i asked him now (yes, as i am writing this) why he enrolled in that class.

“because its cool.” he answered.

ahhhh, no it wasn’t about the honour. no, definitely not about the honour.

i almost forgot david might be as traditional as the traditional english are… he is still a man.

and it being cool is enough a reason for undertaking.

reminds me how he ended up with an alfa romeo. but that’s another story.

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