I spent the weekend at my boyfriend's parents' house. he's swedish, and swedes celebrate the summer solstice by eating enough pickled fish to permanently offset the ecology of a mid-sized scandinavian lake. as the sun goes down, voices are raised in joyous song. the lyrics are patriotic, and the most popular themes are about killing norwegians and, well, drinking. there's even one about killing norwegians, then getting drunk.
I don't speak swedish. I've picked up a few words in the past year, so I can wander around the party like a slightly drunk toddler, blurting words that don't fit together in one sentence.
"flygplan!" I'll shout. airplane!
I proudly explained to my boyfriend's cousin that my longest sentence was "pigs make good sandwich meat." I also know various terms of endearment for an aging golden retriever. I could not, when pressed, remember how to say 'unwanted pregnancy' or 'toilet brush.' oh, well, there's always next year.
dress: h&m garden collection
necklace: from sabrina
my sunburn was in the final phases of peeling and making me a general eyesore. everyone was too polite to say anything...at least in english. I complained that I looked like an alligator, and someone (who shall remain anonymous) remarked that at the very least, I would make a very lovely pair of boots.
here's a mini-lesson in swedish!
no, sadly, bay area swedes do not wear the highly stereotypical garb of my dream swedes. a girl can dream, though, right?