A little angel

A little angel walked up to me today, a bright spot in what was otherwise a pretty crappy day - job situation getting worse, sunlight getting less... although I did have a very girly glass of wine with a new friend and a moment-of-weakness lunchtime shopping trip where I battled the vultures at H&M to secure a Viktor & Rolf tshirt - I think I may have been a bit media-saturated this week. This empty consumerist joy was however offset by several horrible conference calls and a general sense of futurelessness.

But the little angel I guess was the highlight. On my way to work, ipod resolutely shoved in my ears and beanie pulled below my eyebrows in a vain attempt to keep my ears from freezing, a little girl came running out to the road, waving at me to stop with a little gloved hand. I pulled one earphone out. "Hej!" she said.

"Vad heter du?" she asked happily. She was utterly fearless, I could not imagine my 5 year old self starting a random conversation with a grumpy looking woman in the street.

I told her my name in broken Swedish, crouching down to meet her. She repeated my name, smiling, as if it was an amazing new fact she had acquired and had to memorise in case her dad asked when she got home. "Vad heter du?" I asked. "Ebba!" she said. "Hej Ebba," I said, not quite sure what to say (or more accurately, not able to say much at all due to my limited Swedish). She waved again and ran off. "Bye Bye!" she said (dammit, she'd picked up how bad my Swedish was. Pretty smart for a 5 year old). "Bye!" I said, watching her run away. I'm not sure why but I walked smiling to work.

Between Ebba and the tail-less ginger cat I sometimes chat to on the way home (don't worry, it is a real cat, not some Chesire-grinned creature born of my failing grip on sanity) I'm starting to feel like we live in some enchanted neighbourhood rather than the functional 1970s complex that it actually is. My flatmate and I often joke about the strange tunnels to the metro station where you have to go back to 1975 before you come out the other side onto the ordinary street.

Anyway, little Ebba gave me hope that things might actually turn out ok, despite my job or impending lack thereof and yet another dose of strangely formulated rejection from Mr Unrequited. I. says I have good people around me and should concentrate on important things (like what I'm going to wear to our Mr Unrequited-less cocktail party on Saturday night.) I hope she's right.


*Name changed to protect the innocent...and guilty.