I have never eaten cake for breakfast, but today is this lovelies birthday, and it happened. In Germany the word birthday means: something magical equal about equal to Christmas. Or at least in this family it does. She came down in the morning to find a table lit with candles and her presents, which she got to open before church.
And we ate cake like three different times. It was delicious. And shaped like a little pony. You can't go wrong with delicious, pink horse-shaped things. It was also enough to make me jittery from the sugar and give me crazy, sugar-high dreams when I took a nap. I think someone was trying to drain my blood in one of them which is probably my body's way of protesting all the sludge I willing put into my blood stream.
The cool thing about Sunday's is that going to church in Germany feels like going to church at home, except that I can't understand the talks. It's a nice feeling you know? Just a little piece of home in a foreign place. It's nice knowing that wherever I go, I can have that. Really nice.
The end.
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