As I mentioned yesterday, I went on a tour at the tile museum. The tiles were nifty and all, but what was really impressive was the building itself, which used to be a convent. One chapel was particularly memorable: the bottom halves of the walls were covered in white tiles painted with religious scenes, done in a strong blue. Everything else-- the top halves of the walls, the ceilings, the pulpit, the altar and the area around it-- was totally baroque, covered in curliques and cupids and other flashy bits, all of which was covered in gold and jewels. It was over the top by itself, but when added to the huge blue and white tiled pictures it was a bit surreal. Schizophrenic is more acurate, as the two styles don't really compliment each other. There were some nice mannerist paintings as well, fighting for attention and losing the battle.

After that was shopping in the Baixa with She Who Must Be Obeyed, then Pooka Boy called to see if we'd managed to get Miss Kitty a present. Since he works downtown, we met at a pub near the station so we could ride back together. Elvis joined us there, and by the time we got back into town the two of us went straight to dinner. We ate at our favorite Belgian restaurant, and the food was, as always, fantastic. Elvis got me a wonderful pair of earrings-- gold danglies inset with tiny diamonds, and a pearl hanging off the bottom of each one. They are beautiful.

We stopped by the pub for a bit on the way home. Incredibly, we did NOT go to the Late Night Bar of Evil. Which was also good.

Saturday was taken up by cough, cough more Valentine's celebrations, and that night was Miss Kitty's birthday dinner. There were eleven of us, and we went to the South African restaurant. Elvis and I split a steak that was not a T-bone (as advertised), nor was it 700g (also as advertised). The cake (arranged by Lady Jane) was a killer though-- a type of baked alaska. Why settle for candles when you can set the whole cake on fire?

Luckily, Miss Kitty loved the charm bracelet. I probably would have committed seppuku if she hadn't. I gave her a book as well, that I had bought for her the last time I was home. ("It's My F--king Birthday" by Merrill Markoe, which sounded about right.)

We also gave her a lighter that Elvis and I had gotten out of the Cigarette Lighter Vending Machine of Mystery at the train station on Friday. The machine is just as it sounds: you put in a Euro, and you get a lighter. It might be a nice silver toned refillable gas lighter, it might be a lighter shaped like Tweetie Bird, you just never know. Elvis needed a lighter, though, and we were at the station, so we gave it a whirl. The first Euro produced a plastic, flesh colored male torso, from shoulder to mid-thigh, definitely anatomically correct. Elvis stated that there was absolutely no way he was going to carry "that thing" around, and another present was born.

Miss Kitty loves the darn thing. She likes the fact that it can be re-used because the torso is really a lighter cover, so the lighter itself can simply be replaced when it dies and Dick the Lighter is back in business. I was kind of disappointed myself-- I half expected the flame to shoot out of the groin. The penis itself is pretty small in relation to the size of the torso. In fact, it looks like a tiny water spout (which is rather appropriate, when you think about it), jutting straight out, then bending sharply downwards at a ninety degree angle half way along. In short, it looks silly. "Oh no!" said Miss Kitty. "It's pointing the wrong way!" And at first I thought it was a shadow, or maybe a smudge, but the damn thing has pubic hair. Just like the "hair" on Barbie's boyfriend Ken, poor thing.

Yes, I know we are easily amused. But really, we've been getting an awful lot of milage out of it. When Miss Kitty accidentally knocked it off the table during Sunday dinner yesterday, she said in an amazingly matter of fact voice, "Whoops. I dropped my willy." Janet picked it up and immediately started looking for the foreskin. (It's been circumcised. None of us had thought to look.) When Pooka Boy joined us at the table a while later: "Can't you point that thing somewhere else?" And then, he actually moved his chair so as not to be in the "line of fire." Even that wasn't enough-- he then rearranged the glasses on the table so he couldn't see it lying there.

It's interesting. Men get much more perturbed about it than women do about lighters in the shape of a female torso, complete with improbably large boobs. Maybe if its dick was erect and of Holmesian proportions, it wouldn't bother them so much. Or maybe it would make them feel inferior. Who knows?

We all ended up at the Late Night Bar of Evil on Saturday, of course. We stayed until they kicked us out-- Of Course. Miss Kitty enjoyed herself pretty thoroughly. Current Cute Guy was no where in evidence, but Horatio was. Apparently, Miss Kitty has decided she can live with his unusual attitude toward underwear, and it wasn't long before it was Snog-City all over again.

Note to those unfamiliar with British slang: Snogging is NOT the same as shagging. Snogging is heavy kissing, usually with plenty of tongue. Shagging is the whole shebang-- ie. having sex. I've heard tell of some unfortunate incidents caused by people who confuse the two, or fail to appreciate the distinction all together.

Anyhoo, we got our free shot of apfelkorn and our marching orders around 5:30 or 6 am. Miss Kitty was anxious that we walk her home, as she'd had more than enough to drink and she didn't want to wake up to an eyeful of Horatio. It's on our way, so it wasn't a problem. Frank walked with us, as he was getting along quite well with a friend of Miss Kitty's who was staying the night on her couch. It took a long time to walk a short way, however, because Miss Kitty and Horatio kept stopping to swap spit and giggle and whisper and bill and coo and whatnot. Young love, ya know?

Young lust, anyway.

We got there eventually, and Frank (who is a hoot) did some fancy talking to get Miss Kitty to have us in for a cup of tea.

And a biscuit. Frank lurves his biscuits.

In any case, it wasn't much of a challenge for a man of Frank's talents. Elvis made the tea, as Miss Kitty informed us that she sure as hell wasn't going to. Miss Kitty doesn't keep any biscuits around, and her friend fell asleep on the couch after about two minutes, so Frank decided it would be a good idea to leave.

Which left me, Elvis, Horatio, Miss Kitty and six cups of tea. Oh well. So we sat around chatting and drinking tea until it was past 7:00 and I started to fall asleep on the arm of Elvis' chair. Then the two of us waited on the front stairs for the two of them to kiss each other (very thoroughly) goodbye-- we were under orders about that, too, so don't think we were being over-protective. We were dying to get home by this point, and I was very sleepy. Then, finally, we walked home and collapsed into bed.

And I'll tell you what-- it was sheer bliss.