Who cares if people think you're routine. Is it routine when your friendly neighbor waves as you pass by every Saturday morning on the way to the Farmers Market? Is it routine that your favorite waiter at La Bouvette knows which quiche you like the best? Is it routine that you can always be found reading the latest Marta Acosta novel under that certain tree every Saturday afternoon? Is it routine to always have those lovely, dark pink tulips in every room of your home? Routine, shmoutine.