Dear future hubster,
I don't think I expected it, but it makes sense that a perfect summer weekend here, in this life, isn't that different from a perfect summer weekend in the style of the other life.
Meaning: a little Return of the King on Thursday, girls' dinner night out on Friday, getting drunk on G&Ts while binge watching Game of Thrones on Saturday, lakeside girls' talk on Sunday, and sweet lazy reading on the couch in between isn't that different from movies with Bea, dinner at La Matese, drinking G&Ts while watching terrible music videos at the Heikkila Cultural Centre, and gossiping over coffee at Konrad's.
The only different thing was the jogging, because I can't find a way to shuffle my music, so instead of a mix of Milow, Mika and Moby, I'm still running to the beat of the Complied Artworks of Her Majesty Madonna
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