Never understood what happy as a clam means… does anyone? Are clams happy? Doubt it. I know I’m damn happy when I’ve got clams in a sauce on some linguine but that’s because I can be a little gluttonous at times.
The point is… I’m happy happy happy!
Yesterday morning, I sat in the sun (it reached a whole 68 degrees!) at the Cafe Tabac with a cafe au lait and a copy of History magazine. And since The Husband was getting his haircut, I got to enjoy both without any chatter. The Husband is quite the chatter bug. If I have a coffee and magazine or newspaper in front of me, it might as well be a sign that says… ssh… no talking. The Husband hasn’t grasped that yet.
Heaven. Look at the sun shining on my table! Sun beams mean angels are smiling (I just made that up, because I’m happy!)
And after my cafe au lait soaked in sun beams, we went and bought something I’ve been dreaming about for awhile. No, not a Chanel 2.55 purse, or a new pair of Christian Louboutins. Something better! Remember a post awhile back where I complained about the useless, stupid little red vacuum that The Husband bought instead of the Dyson as instructed?
Well check me out…
That’s me, happy!
With my new friend that I’ve named Buddy. Buddy the Dyson.
See, it doesn’t take much to make me happy, just a little sunshine and a €300 vacuum cleaner.
Gotta go!
Me and Buddy are off to tackle the world!
OK, maybe not the world, that’s a little ambitious,
but we will follow a shedding Fifty,
and a baguette crumb dropping Husband around.
bisou
P.S. Buddy the Dyson is brought to you buy a generous envelope stuffed wedding present from Auntie J and Uncle E.
Holla!
You guys really are my favorites.
It’s true.
It's Me, Sara Louise 
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