Getting my feet wet

I wondered about what to start this blog off with. I asked my sister if she had any ideas and she replied that I should write about my typical day, or going for Pho, otherwise known in my circle as "soup" (vietnamese soup to all who are scratching their head in ignorant bliss). I resisted the urge to tell her that in fact going for soup would be part of my typical day, since of late, I have become obsessed with the dish and visit a local vietnamese restaurant a few times a week. I resisted because it wouldn't have stopped there. I would have told her of my last soup date with a friend on Saturday and how we discussed the present dating situation each of us finds ourselves in (or in my present case, out of). That would have led to my telling her my own theory that going for soup should be a mandatory first date, since no one can be anything but themselves when wrestling with chopsticks and slippery noodles; no one can look ultra cool while wiping splashed up soup from his or her own chin and cheeks. I could have gone on, letting one thread of thought lead into another. But, like I say, I resisted.

It is the afore mentioned urge that I see as one (and one alone) defining feature of me. It is to take a small piece of a conversation and expand on it, relate some tasty little morsel from my own repitoire, to purge my own head, if only momentarily of the thoughts and scenes that continually swirl around there. Then maybe, if the details are just right, and the delivery is on, I can even entertain. Welcome to my world.