Cinnamon Bun

There’s this funny little dynamic between my father and me where we try to gauge whether the other person actually needs to go to the bathroom or is just trying to sneak off and pay for the meal. This time, I managed to beat him to it.

The waiter told me it’s the same with him and his father, and that he likes it because he sees it as a sign of love. That was cute.

Then he came back to the table with me to say goodbye to everyone and told us that he’ll soon be leaving Germany because he’s worried about where the country’s politics are heading.

The fact that he feels he has to do that was considerably less cute.

Those cinnamon buns were the worst! But at least they were very expensive, so it hurt twice.

Do you know those people who buy a very dry and far too expensive cinnamon bun and then let it ruin their whole day? They don’t stop complaining about it, it wrecks their mood, and they can’t get over the atrocity they had to endure? I never wanted to be a person like that, and I’m happy to report that I didn’t become one.

I don’t want the quality of my life to be determined by how well I can circumvent every tiny inconvenience. It’s far more fun to just go with it and consider the worst cinnamon bun of your life not a personal affront, but a good story to tell.

Visiting Tower Bridge while melting wasn’t exactly a highlight of this trip, but I’m glad I saw it.

We had quite a social day. Notting Hill is unbelievably beautiful.

Big Ben is far prettier than I expected. I thought it would be just a boring old tower, but it’s so detailed!

Millimeter sometimes misjudges her strength. She just wanted to tell me to stop petting her, and I didn’t recognize the signs. My bad.