We're heading Northeast on the QC-20 for Quebec City. All new roads for us now.
We're passing through farm land now, and Natalie was the first to notice the smell of manure in her nostrils.
"It smells like pigs!"
"Not pigs, it's horses or cows," says I.
Martin chimes in, "Or as my uncle used to say, 'it's the smell of money'."
I chime in with, "And your Mother would say, 'there's that fine country smell."
"It smells like pigs!"
"Not pigs, it's horses or cows," says I.
Martin chimes in, "Or as my uncle used to say, 'it's the smell of money'."
I chime in with, "And your Mother would say, 'there's that fine country smell."
And so it goes this early afternoon.
We started the day with Nutella and banana crèpes. Then a consultation with a hair stylist. Granddad told Natalie that her hair was boring, that she needed it to be metallic red. Her Mother has already told her that she cannot dye her hair. But, it weighs heavy on her mind. The stylist advised against the color she chose because she has some very light blond in her hair, and he said it would turn pink - sort of a light fuschia. We spent 15 minutes or more talking to him, but so far, no real action has taken place, so far. HUM?
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