I’ve had a partially-composed post about last week floating around in my head for the past several days, but have not had the will to sit down and cough it up.
Now that I’m sitting here, listening to Aurora snore in the window, I’m at a loss to recall its contents.
I know it was a musing on all of the paintings of nude women that we’ve seen lately (we went to Splendeurs et misères. Images de la prostitution, 1850-1910 at Musée d’Orsay last Thursday, and then to Fragonard amoureux: gallant et libertine at Musée du Luxembourg on Saturday), but I’m suddenly at a loss for the words I was going to put to
Fezzik has just started to snore.
I give up.