random acts of seasonal affective whatever

As if being Monday and the first day of second semester wasn't enough, it snowed.

Granted, it was snow of the typically gone-by-nightfall Belgian variety (in contrast to the when-will-the-bluecollars-stop-striking Montreal version). But I am whiney and wimpy where winter is concerned, so I crawled promptly back into bed.

When the snow stopped coming down, I got up. With a lot of unnecessary groaning (unnecessary only because there was no one around to hear it, obviously). I put on inordinate amounts of unmatched winterwear (red turtleneck/purple scarf/pink tuque/brown gloves) and went to class.

The day was a string of unconsequential blah until De Markten. I parked at the corner table with my books and ordered my much needed caffeine fix. Lait russe downed, I felt suficiently revived to bury my nose in my Arts Management text.

I think hours passed. My coffee cup was whisked away, the café cat fell asleep under my table, the servers changed shifts.

Somewhere in the middle of chapter ten a steaming mug was edged into my field of vision. The waiter said, "You look cold. It's from me." Was I hugging the heater so obviously? Where the economics-induced shivers (chapter ten is on organizational forms and dynamics) not just in my head?

Upon further inspection, I found the steam to be rising from frothy milk. On the plate was a cube of chocolate on a stick. Mmm. The only way hot chocolate should be. I put down chapter ten, surrendering to my mug and the Cold Play meets Buena Vista Social Club background music.

It was a moment worth enjoying. After all, one day I will no longer be a cute twenty-something studenty-type and bored waiters will probably only bring me the drinks I order.

Oh misery!