I gave in and bought a metro card yesterday. I was trying so hard to avoid doing this while I’m here, first of all because they are friggin’ expensive, and second, because it’s an obvious sign of weakness. The metro is for people who are lazy and uninspired, poor lost souls who prefer the convenience of cramming their bodies and belongings sardine-like into a tiny moving train six stories underground, rather than just putting one foot in front of the other and enjoying the fresh air and scenery on street level. The metro is for wusses.
But now I have joined their ranks, because folks, it is just too effing cold out there. I can’t do that walk anymore, especially now that the party is over and it rains every day. I did everything I could to prolong this moment…I tried walking varied routes to and from work to keep it fresh and fun; I made a game of finding delicious new cappuccino spots along the way; I even bought really adorable brand name, not-affordable rain boots so I could better play the part of the seasoned and fashionable Stockholmer who scoffs at the very sight of a metro station. But I’m weak.
I bring this up because I’m afraid there are implications. I have someone else’s butt now. I found it when I wasn’t even looking for a new one — just minding my own business, walking three or four miles a day on steep terrain — but it’s mine now, and I want to keep it. It is the behind of a spry little teenager who kicks and jumps just for fun. It’s unexpected and wonderful. And now it’s in jeopardy. How can I possibly hold on to the glory if I start taking the train to work? This is bad, guys. I might have to give up my sour cream and onion chips.