Tino walks around, finding a large bus. He nods and places a large sign next to, saying
BUS TO IKEA LEAVES AT 5:30!!!!!
Tino is obviously very excited, twitching like a young child waiting for their parents to wake up on Christmas morning. It's IKEA TIME!
BUS TO IKEA LEAVES AT 5:30!!!!!
Tino is obviously very excited, twitching like a young child waiting for their parents to wake up on Christmas morning. It's IKEA TIME!
Tino's frontroom was filled with tables, groaning with food. Each table had a different color and a label on it. The purple-clothed table was "appetizers", the blue one was "food", the green one was "desserts" and a yellow-covered table held "drinks". Each table was covered with a variety of platters of Tino's attempts at international cooking. Yak butter tea took up half of the dessert table, barely leaving any room for the ribbon cakes and tarts. The entree table had several half-melted attempts at quiches and a collapsed souffle. Not all the food was poor, to say. A lovely three-tiered cake stood above the butter teas, and a roast chicken outshone its fellows. However, it seemed that Tino had forgotten the plates.
All the glasses for the drinks (a nice merlot, a riesling, several large bottles of vodka and a copious amount of koskenkorva, along with water) were in the kitchens, where the aftermath of the cooking was visible. The ceiling has new colors on it, from exploding sauces. Cooking books still sat out, with three or four piled by the sink.
Tino himself was sitting in the front room, in a plush chair, adjusting the volume of the radio. ABBA came from it, screaming about the Dancing Queen until he adjusted it to be a medium volume.
The clock ticked over to 5PM.
All the glasses for the drinks (a nice merlot, a riesling, several large bottles of vodka and a copious amount of koskenkorva, along with water) were in the kitchens, where the aftermath of the cooking was visible. The ceiling has new colors on it, from exploding sauces. Cooking books still sat out, with three or four piled by the sink.
Tino himself was sitting in the front room, in a plush chair, adjusting the volume of the radio. ABBA came from it, screaming about the Dancing Queen until he adjusted it to be a medium volume.
The clock ticked over to 5PM.
A piece of thick and quality paper is posted, with thick, dark handwriting on it. It is an invitation, open to all persons.
"Tino invites everyone to a pleasant evening on the 9th of September, 2008 for food, wine, and koskenkorva. Light music and meatless options will be provided. The evening will start at 5 PM. Please RSVP.
A blank sheet of paper and a pen sit on a nearby table, waiting for people to sign.
"Tino invites everyone to a pleasant evening on the 9th of September, 2008 for food, wine, and koskenkorva. Light music and meatless options will be provided. The evening will start at 5 PM. Please RSVP.
A blank sheet of paper and a pen sit on a nearby table, waiting for people to sign.
If you have anything about to say about my portrayal of Finland, please say something.
Tino sits in the middle of the room, rocking back in forth in an old-style chair, wooden and creaking. A small white dog jumps at his feet as Tino eagerly knits. Click, click, click, go the needles as the purple wool takes shape. It is a sweater for HanaTamago, for the small white dog to survive winter. Skis sit in the corner of the room, near a warm and cackling fire. Finland prepares well for winter.