Read On, screams my sister into my ear, which is not very pleasant at all, but especially unpleasant when you sit in the bathtub trying to warm yourself up after a day in a freezing cold conference room, but it is much harder to impress my sister with other things than such laxnesses. You will end as an old spinster who writes poems no one will ever read or even worse as a cat lady, sitting around in an enormous old house, reading boring books, dipping cakes into her Breakfast tea. I could imagine much worse scenarios for my future than sitting around and reading, but my sister of course knows better and repeats the horrifying story of a friend’s friend’s friend’s sister who ended with a dubious pensioner who bets on horses and makes money on Ebay with old tennis rackets. Well, try I to interrupt her and to at least defend my books as not- boring but an older sister remains an older sister and so she screams even louder in my ears: you did not even call back B.’s friend L. who wanted to get to know you and could even get convinced to meet you up there ( this means the village where I live and which is for my sister the end of the known world ). Oh yes, L. say I, trying to remember, where I might find the receipt where maybe L.’s number still is readable. But my sister hurries on and with a voice not unlikely a priest on a funeral, she tells me that L. already found a wonderful woman who in opposite to me, not only lives in a city with a normal name, but has a normal profession too. What is she doing, ask I and my sister explains that the lady who so easily won L.’s heart is the proud owner of a dog parlor. I imagine B. and his new fiancé driving to the church within a carriage drawn by 16 poodles and remain quite silent, listening to my sister’s long speech concerning my coming life but leaving the bathtub with the very reassuring feeling that being a cat lady will do quite well for me.