Entrée
Entrée in French gastronomical terms means "appetizer" and not "main course" as it has come to mean to English-speaking North Americans (and maybe English speakers elsewhere too; I don't know) for some reason I've never managed to understand. It literally means "entrance".

In any case, check out my fancy new pointer (not available with Mozilla, apparently). Oooooo! Swish! And it only takes a few seconds to get annoying. But oh! the fun you can have on those few seconds. Try spinning it in circles and racing it as rapidly as possible across your monitor. This is my pretty way of saying that I need a new life.

Premier service
My major trip home – rather more appropriately "Home I", Winnipeg, as opposed to, Montréal, "Home II (The Return of Home! It's not just back! It's back with a vengeance!)" – I watch too much TV – for the High Holidays is booked and confirmed. I could almost hear my father telephonically fall off his chair when I agreed to go to shul with him. And I'll fast bigger'n'better than the rest of them all on Yom Kippur too (in a contrite and observant manner, of course).

Deuxième service
Despite yesterday's bloggie, I am not starving to death. What's more, many of my socks are darnable and those that aren't are damnable (buddum-chhhhhhhhhhhhh). Plus, I actually can afford to buy a pair or two every so often. I simply wanted to use an image that most people would be able to relate to and have a reaction to without reaching for the melodrama of, say, a top-hatted landlord twirling his moustache as he plans to tie me to the train tracks because I can't pay rent. Manipulative imagery. Your sign of a Quality Blog®.

Of course, that way a Mountie, played by the first of my ten (so far) future husbands, model and Bollywood actor Ajay would ride up on his trusty steed, pop the evil landlord in the kisser and untie me from the tracks. We would gaze at each other as we rode off into the sunset, hoping that the horse knew where he was going since we were gazing at each other. And that's my desert.