Thoughts

On Housing:

S: Why does our house smell?

M: I don’t think it smells anymore. It used to smell like an old lady.

S: I think it still smells like an old lady.

M: Maybe, but I think it’s a different old lady

On Blueberries:

S: I love these blueberries.

M: Yeah, I heard you the first time.

S: Sometimes I just get fixated on weird things.

(Minutes Later)

S: I love these blueberries! They taste like candy.

M: You're like George Sr. with his ice cream sandwiches.


On pet names:

M: Oh, that was a good spot to hide my bag from me you crafty bastard.

(Twenty minutes later while doing dishes)

M: Oh come on. Get serious Steph.

S: I only answer to crafty bastard.


On naming:

M: I like Sadie kay that sounds like something you could yell upstairs pretty easily.


On being easygoing:

S: I read the entire baby names book through while I was at K and T's.

M: You what?

S: I came up with a few--

M: I just think that's a huge waste of your time. I can't believe you'd spend an entire evening reading through a names book. It's just a name.

S: It took me like half an hour.

M: We're deciding this name right now!

(Minutes Later)

M: Sometimes I forget that I'm easygoing.


Type A vs. Type B:

S: We could either do plan a or b. Or c or do. or some combination of a and b contingent on whether M is around or not.

M: Why are you even asking me? We both know you're just going to create a thousand scenarios to bludgeon me with and then just pick whatever you want.

S: You're probably right. I'll let you know what I decide.

Fiction (Cont)

I am in a double bind because I do not want to be alone, and I do not want to see Jason. I solve the problem by calling Jason and inviting him over, so I guess it wasn’t really a bind, but more like a conundrum. I know that since he’s coming from the zoo and that he’ll smell like crap.

I am in a tizzy before Jason arrives because that is how I am before company arrive. I worry what they will think of my hair, or the style of the pictutres on my wall, even people I don’t give a damn about. I check myself out in the mirror but then remember that I didn’t even want Jason to come over. So, “screw it,” I say and run a hand through my hair and flatten the left side to make it look as though I’ve just awoken from an afternoon nap, or that I’ve used a flat iron on only one side of my head. , I don’t give a shit what you think, world, is what my hair seems to say.

The soap operas conclude dramatically and Jason arrives at my house. He is wearing a pair of leather sandals that sort of piss me off, and his hair is unwashed. I get him a drink, ice water for the hangover. “It’s Tuesday,” I say. His sandals are already on the ottoman.

For a while, we talk to each other about our days, complaining about co-workers and imagined slights, until we realize that we are boring even to ourselves.

“Some days,” I confide to Jason, “I just want to fire her.”

“Who?” He asks.

“My secretary, Janice.”

“How progressive of you,” he says, but he’s got a piece of popcorn lodged between his mismatched British teeth, so I don’t pay attention to anything that he says. When it suits me, I am the shallowest person in the world.

The problem with eating alone is that I can never figure out where I’m supposed to sit. It’s kind of like Goldilocks and the Three Bears except I always keep searching, moving from chair to chair without anything ever feeling right. I bought the table a few months ago with Jason. When I asked what the hell I needed a six person table for, he said, “Entertaining,” as though it was something I’d do. The truth is, it would be a great table for entertaining. I’d almost invited Janice over once with just that in mind, but then I remembered that she couldn’t drink, and I thought, to hell with Janice and her Puritanism.