- My very first crush, of the knee buckling, cheek reddening and heart racing variety, happened when I was 8. The boy in question was a year older, blond and cherubic, highly unlikely for a Neapolitan. His father was the owner of the vacation village south of Naples where my family and I sojourned four Summers in a row. Leandro liked me back, the first year, and it was an exhilarating feeling. The next summer, though, he had moved on to better and bigger girls. With the first love came the first heartbreak and, possibly, my long life aversion to blond men.
- Aside from the occasional Campari cocktail, everyone who knows me knows I don’t really drink. I am that party pooper – I am actually mildly allergic to alcohol. But I did get drunk twice: the first time at 19, in Greece, in a misguided and unsuccessful attempt to seduce some American boy named Peter. The second time I was 25, in London, on a memorable night at Stringfellows, when I got to meet one of my musical idols, Darryl Hall. While sofagirl sat in a corner trying to fend off the advances of a pudgy man who had taken a shine to her, I sat nearby, listening to Mr. Hall recounting his latest breakup and drowning his sorrows in alcohol. I am sure hit singles ensued from his experience. At 25, as I had not yet mastered the sympathy act, all I could think of doing was to follow in his drinking path. The horrible hangover was nursed by sofagirl. My aversion to blond men was definitely cemented.
- I own far fewer clothes than anyone thinks. I am just very creative with what I do with them.
- I went through a Russian phase of misery and soul-searching which began with Tolstoy and ended with Bulgakov. It might have been “The Master and Margarita” that pushed me to read Jackie Collins. I ended up reading both Anna Karenina and War and Peace (skipping over the war bits the first two times) three times. The Russian phase ended once I actually visited Russia, during glasnost but before the economic boom, where I subsisted for over a week on tea and potatoes. I am sure Russian cuisine is filled with delicacies but I didn’t encounter them and I refuse to take life advice from people who can’t cook.
- I am entirely happy in my own company.
- I am partial to a well made cocktail. Or two. Three is a disaster.
- Expensive sports cars just embarrass me.
- I suffer fools more gladly than I did when I was younger. And I wish I didn’t.
- I do not get opera, it’s horrible. Except for Nessun Dorma – which is really a rock song.
- I have very little rhythm. A friend, who is an incredible bass player, once observed that I dance to the words.
- If I don’t get enough sleep – all bets are off.
Blogs we love to read – in addition to much beloved firm faves named on our blogroll:
Smitten Kitchen: Deb Perelman loves to cook. She isn’t a chef or a restaurant owner—she’s never even waitressed. She just believes that cooking should be a pleasure, and that the results can—and should—be delicious . . . every time. Deb is a firm believer that there are no bad cooks, just bad recipes. She has dedicated herself to creating and finding the best of the best and then adapting those recipes for the everyday cook.
Wife not Lodger: Jo is a wife, mother and teacher who lives in Anglesea in the UK. She is trying to make sense of her life .. or as she puts it: “Things happen to me, it is not always my fault, I laugh, maybe drink some wine and then try to write about them!” Warm, funny and sometimes heartrending. Always very real.
narcissista.me:The woman behind this blog is a 40 something ad exec in New York, with a passion for all things “beauty”. From her, you will get the skinny on products, beauty procedures, fashion and a huge dose of humour. All the while helping us age gracefully.
Mh goi saai, terima kasih,thank you and gracias, Peggy. Long may you wander that open road.