I don't have a watermelon, do you?

“So, you’ve joined the dark side,” Mimi said when she saw me, motioning towards the kayaks. “Not quite,” I said, “I’m going to row a single.”

“Nice!” she replied, giving me a hug. My reasons for returning to the rowing fold are partially addiction and partially appeasement for the people that are pissed off that I left.

Monday was an incredibly busy day. I left early from work so I could be downtown to meet Alison. She’s leaving to teach English in Malaysia for a year, so we went for coffee, because that was all we had time for. We had some of those new matcha flavoured frapuccinos at Starbucks, but they didn’t really taste much like green tea.

I found my parents and sister in a restaurant in Gastown, sitting beside the entire Scottish fiddle orchestra. I have never seen so many Scots in one place before, and hilarity ensued. “Are you the stripper?” their leader asked of the man who delivered their cake. While we sat there, seven homeless looking people walked by with watermelons over the course of an hour. I think it’s a secret code.

I went to Kitsilano Showboat to dance, and by that point in time I was really tired. The audience quite literally sucked all my energy off stage. It was fun, regardless, and my mother used my new camera to take a million and a half pictures, some of which are not exactly flattering. Backstage, older kids are starting to tell stories to younger ones about cool dances and monologues that I have done in the past. I don’t consider myself to be a particularly amazing dancer and I don’t spend much time at the dance school, so I’m at a loss as to where my newfound popularity has sprung from.