Holidays with two kids, of whom one is an infant, are a busy affair. Tag teaming is heavily involved. Frustration may occur more often than anticipated. And reading, well, just does not happen.
Sitting somewhere (anywhere) reading a magazine without being interrupted after page 50 has become the ultimate luxury. My summer stack has not decreased much even after three weeks of vacation. I never lose hope, but I have lowered my expectations and I have only taken this month's Elle along our three days outing to Mont-Tremblant.
I got to open it halfway through day two (didn't I tell you?), sitting by the pool while the baby was sleeping. It turns out I have missed the debate about the quality of journalism of women's magazines sparked by the cover of Port. I understand the indignation of Elle's editor, but was it surprising news to you that men have no clue about the content of women's magazines? By the same token, I have no clue what's in men's Vogue besides attractive models. Perhaps the difference is my attitude: I would not discard men's magazines just out of prejudice.
It is page 50, the baby woke up. Didn't I tell you? Gotta go now.
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