Why I just won't quit

How can one not be bubbly? Image from Stock.Xchng

Note: I have tried more times than I can count to make the typeface and text size of the following paragraphs consistent. Blogger simply will not obey. Still, better to have an imperfect published post than an unpublished one.

Because life is an experience of the sort where, one cold winter's night in Sydney, you might find yourself walking down Castlereagh St in a hurry, not because you are late but because it is cold and the sooner you reach warmth and shelter, the better. It being a Friday night, you are wondering where you can bring the ex-colleague you are about to meet, because this is Sydney and late-night establishments are few. At least, the type of establishment that offers a safe, warm place for non-alcoholic drinks and quiet conversation. So you wonder, as you bluster along Elizabeth St now, together with the chill wind that appears to be racing with you, where shall we go? And perhaps, you are also wondering if any of the places that are open will also be kind to your wallet, because you have yet to find a job and would like to Save Money while still Enjoying Life. All these things you wonder, and meanwhile, your toes are telling you that canvas slip-ons are not the warmest footwear, and your torso and arms would like you to know that the ensemble of Moschino tee with the sequinned-strawberry-juggling monkey in a tutu and the scribbled words "Multi Talented Girl" on it worn under a denim blazer might be more stylish than a windbreaker but it is also not very warm. But finally you decide that what will be, will be, and what establishment is open (and safe) at this time, will be. And so you reach your ex-colleague's hotel, and you don't wait very long, and she appears. But what's this? Suddenly you realise that you are having drinks with not one but two ex-colleagues, and their international hosts, and instead of buying her a $5 coffee in some little hole in a Sydney wall, you soon find yourself upstairs at the lounge, having a glass of Moët & Chandon Brut Impérial Rosé, and you walk home with two slightly intoxicated but still very chummy ex-colleagues feeling considerably warmer than you did on the walk out.

So, although life has in the past sometimes given me very sour lemons when I would have liked mango (mmmmm... mango), I have not given up on it and will not, because it sometimes gives you pink champagne when you expected to have to buy it a $5 coffee.