"It's not really possible," she said, "seeing as all sinuses really are are hollow spaces behind your face. Nothing to remove, really-- unless," she added thoughtfully, "maybe you could have them filled in?"

A- ha. Thanks, but no thanks. I've already got that one covered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Went out for lunch yesterday with Terrie and Marie A, to a little caf� Marie likes in the marina-- a Belgian place called Anvers.

We don't go down to the marina very often. In fact, most of the time, we even forget that it's there. The marina by us doesn't have the same atmosphere, the same buzz that the marinas in Lisbon do. On occasions that we have gone, the restaurants and shops have been virtually deserted. But Marie likes this place, so we decided that it must be good and we went. No doubt, somewhere there is a Frenchman who has appalling taste in food, but I haven't met him yet.

It was a nice day, so we sat outside in the sunshine, looking at the boats and the lighthouse and the fort and the ocean and so forth. Very pleasant. There wasn't much people watching, however, as there simply weren't many people. Granted, it is off season. Still, I can't help but think that the restaurants down there would draw more customers if they weren't so damn expensive. That said, the prices at Anvers were reasonable, if a little on the high side for lunch. (They don't appear to have a separate lunch menu, although they did have a chalkboard with a selection of sandwiches on it.)

As we sat there, sipping our wine and waiting for our food, I became increasingly obsessed with the bookshelves that I could see inside, stretched from floor to ceiling along one wall of the dining room. They were huge, made of what looked like walnut, and filled with books, statues, vases and other bric-a-brac. They were also crooked.

Not just a little crooked: a lot crooked. On purpose crooked, with the shelves slanting downward at an alarming angle. I remarked that the wall unit, avant garde as it might be, simply wasn't working for me. Marie laughed, and told me that there was a matching set of bookshelves, slanting the other way, on the wall opposite. Then she pointed out the menu case hung on the wall outside the caf� door. It was also crooked. I had noticed that before, but I guess I just thought that it was carelessness on their part. Then I noticed that the frame surrounding the glass front of the caf� was also crooked. As was the pass through window to the kitchen, as was the hanging glass rack above the bar.

It turns out that Anvers is not only the French name for Antwerp, but is also a pun on the french word for crooked. I knew the first, but not the second, so I was a bit slow on the uptake, I guess.

"Wait until you see the bathroom," said Terrie, and she was right. Not only did it have the now familiar crooked door frame, and the expected crooked mirror above the sink, but a crooked partition between the sink and toilet (which was, blessedly, level. I didn't really fancy trying to perch on a crooked throne, although if they could have figured out how to do it, I'm sure they would have put one in.) The strip of black tile running through the middle of the otherwise white walls was crooked, too, slanting up or down depending on the wall. The black border running along the base of the wall was wedge-shaped -- one side slanting up, one down -- adding to the general air of topsy-turvyness.

It was, in short, the Mad Hatter's bathroom.

It would also be a fun place to take a drunk person, provided that there was no way you would get stuck cleaning up the resulting mess.

The food was excellent. Terrie and I both had the mixed green salad with goat cheese, toasted pine nuts and a some-kind-of-fancy-honey vinaigrette. Marie, who arrived later on and had apparently already eaten, settled for the crepes suzette, if 'settling' is really the appropriate word for it. The waiter came around and asked if we wanted the menus back to choose dessert. "Oh. Yes," said Terrie, very firmly and before I had time to even open my mouth to answer.

I had contemplated not having dessert, given my recent Foray into Fitness and all, but since Terrie obviously wanted one, I couldn't let her order dessert all by herself. She is my friend, after all. I was just wondering why I was looking at the menu, because when we were ordering our salads I noticed that they had homemade tiramis� so of course that's what I was going to order, when Terrie suggested we split one. Saved! Half a dessert, as everyone knows, does not count when you're toting up the calories. When the waiter brought it out, it seemed like we made the right choice. The portion was HUGE, and sprinkled with chopped bittersweet chocolate instead of the more usual cocoa powder. It was gorgeous.

It was gone in about 30 seconds.

We both agreed that we could have eaten a whole portion by our dainty little selves, and I briefly considered ordering another one. When the waiter came by, though, we contented ourselves with ordering espresso. Sometimes, we can be strong.

We'll be back, though. We want to haul Tom and Elvis along with us, and we should have no problem doing so because they have Belgian beer. Not just the usual Duvel, Chimay and other monk-brewed beverages, as good as they are: they've got Kriek. Kriek beer is something called a 'cherry lambic' -- as opposed to a lager, say, or an ale. It is also more proof of God's existence. Now if you, like the unfortunate Terrie, cannot imagine drinking cherry beer, I have three things to say to you: (1) it is not sweet; (2) despite its delightful flavor, the stuff is strong so take it easy; and (3) you've obviously never had it, so please rectify the situation immediately. Seriously. As long as you're at it, try framboise (raspberry lambic, and a bit too sweet for me), or gueuze, which is not fruit flavored at all.

And with those recommendations, I'm off to try and clear out my nasal passages enough to make it possible to go to the gym without doing some serious mouth-breathing on the elliptical machine. The pharmacist gave me some medicine, but the main drawback to that is that it doesn't seem to be working. I took some anyway, and it's had enough time to kick in, so if I can't manage to up my breathability enough for the gym, I might just go for a walk instead. Not a long walk, mind you. A short walk should, hopefully, be quite adequate.

There's another pharmacist just up the street.