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Sunday began with the mixing of tomato paste and water, or, to sum it up in a single word: inauspiciously. In addition to the tomato sauce, I also mixed three variations of salad dressing and relegated all of them to the fridge to let the “flavours mingle” for a few hours
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**the only true elegance I know to execute lurks in the form of the written word** Same here. I'm horrible at small talk.
**Even half a thimblefull of grace would be enough for the moment. Where can I find a fairy godmother?** What if it's a trade off? What if you do somehow find the "grace" you think you're lacking (though I feel the same way about myself), what if it comes at the sacrifice of the writing style? Scary thought.
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