This is not a ficlet, it's a grim, RL tale that involves facebook and family. And it could happen to you. Slightly depending on your family.
If you wake up screaming in the middle of the night because you think you are like Muriel too, don't blame me.
Just heed warnings in future.
 

Given the number of fellow-watchers in the local cinema I'm arguably the last person in fandom to have seen it. Yes, I do mean HBP. But we were on holiday till last Saturday and then there were some RL-things.
Still, for some lists of what I loved, hated, and missed, click the link.

Beaucoup trop tard, bien sûr, mais irrésistible. Ce que j’aime énormément, c’est la diversité des régions. L’Alsace, la Provence, la Normandie : des mondes si distinctifs et si individuels. Et j’aime le sens du terroir des Français. Ils ont tendance à se définir par leur région : « Je suis Breton donc … costaud, solide, têtu. » Même aux élections présidentielles le terroir d’un candidat est la première chose mentionnée.

Et bien sûr, du sens du terroir aux aliments de ce terroir il n’y a qu’un pas … J’ai deux amours, la cuisine française et Paris, comme aurait dû chanter la belle Joséphine Baker.

This afternoon I’m supposed to write the minutes of a meeting (done now) and three not very interesting short interviews (one down, two to go). All of this unpaid, to make things worse. 

This is how it happened: last year, I was enjoying, in a quiet, mature, and responsible way, the monthly dinner cum lecture of the women entrepreneurs club I’m a member of. Then assorted committee members asked me to join them in an after dinner drink. I remember wine, Sambucca and, at some point, saying: “Yes, well, why not, could be fun.” And meaning it, too. Next morning I woke up, I was the new secretary.

So now I’m dutifully writing dreary RL-stuff AND I serve on a committee as well. I'm such a brick, you could throw me through windows.

Thank heaven for book memes. Stolen from procrastinator's delight, 

kellychambliss

I thought I had had the hoggiest, wartiest Hogwarts evening of this year in March, when the Neighborhood Association had its annual meeting.

Did I mention yet that I have this wildly exciting and glamorous RL? Well, I do, and one of the highlights was writing an informative, witty, yet kind article on this meeting for the neighborhood rag.

So I spent a delightful evening with Professor Binns, who explained in his verbose way that our savings account gives interest. Then Percy Weasley went over procedural details and Filch finished it off with the introduction of the Neighborhood Committee Against Seagulls.

I’m still very proud that I did not use ‘One flew over the seagull’s nest’ as a title. Greasy Git I may be, but I can do ‘kind’ on  occasions.

Last Tuesday, however, I had the wonderful opportunity to pass an evening with Professor Sybill Trelawney, notable seer and astrologer, and a woman who could bore for Britain.

She told us (us being the female entrepreneurs group I’m a member of) exactly how astrology works. By first spending too long on her previous career as a teacher. Her subsequent lecture clearly showed that she left teaching long after teaching left her. But this bit was all right; we had full glasses, and there were some snacks left.

Then she drew a circle with the astrological signs. It seems that for a horoscope you have to cut the circle like a cake, in twelve segments. These are the twelve houses. Personally, I prefer a universe with just four. As long as the other three know their place.

In these twelve houses, Mercurius, Uranus and other planets pop up here and there, which has to do with the exact moment of your birth. Well, they pop up regardless of your presence, don’t flatter yourself, but the time determines their exact configuration.

Then, like the fairy godmothers in the Sleeping Beauty, they start handing out presents such as learning skills and caring natures. But some planets have a bad hair day and recede. So things go pear-shaped and that is why children have learning difficulties.

And that is when you need Sybill to do a horoscope of the little devils which will turn you into a kind and understanding Earth Mother and your spawn into cereal-advertisement specimens of  lovable naughtiness.

Please don’t ask me to explain this logically. We were as clueless as our esteemed guest, with the added disadvantage of empty glasses, long gone snacks and rumbling stomachs. 

Then we got the second part of the fun: horoscopes of some of us. Sybill focused on what she called the work-house. Excellent place for her. All victims were very caring persons, who wanted to work very harmoniously and who loved organizing.

Lavender Brown, who invited her to our gathering, was all over her like a bad rash. The rest of  us indulged in whispered sarcasm. I was kept from asking “Can you show us Uranus, Sybill?” by the fact that the pun doesn’t translate in Dutch. Quite a few of my kind moments are rooted in Lost in Translation.

The only accurate bit was that Lavender has an eye for trends. We all realized that, but in our earth-bound, sceptical way we had simply reasoned that a woman can’t have a successful clothes shop for over twenty years without being an astute buyer.

Then flowers were forced upon Trelawney, which did shut her up effectively, and dinner was served. “Tripe, Sybill?”

Need I add that right now, the most effective use of my time would be writing yet another informative, witty, yet kind report on this meeting?