Sunday 14 October 2012

Dress/Code.

For my next item on my bucket list I want Ben to twist my waves into a funnel shape and then roll me vertically between his hands until my hair fans out like a troll doll.

I never stood by the logic that a bucket list need only be populated with lofty aspirations or magnificent achievements, because I also want to pee-write my name in the snow someday, like the boys can do. I just can't figure out how.

In any case, I did get my clothes back because it's very incredibly stupidly-cold here, as one expects in the Prairies in October. Stupidly stupid cold. When I was finished my motorcycle ride I could have etched a lovely design in the glass doors. I might still have that ability because I haven't warmed up at all and blue lips and rock-hard nipples really isn't a great look for me, in spite of what you might think.

Trust me.

We finally went shopping. Ben is gigantic and we needed groceries that Nolan doesn't keep here, living alone. I think he lives on coffee and instant oatmeal and we tried that and I was okay but Ben ran out of energy quickly. He has new callouses on his hands from splitting wood and sore muscles from working hard after living such a soft life in the studio. He loves this. I think if we didn't have obligations he would stay here forever.

We called home. Spoke with the kids, and all the boys. All is well. They wanted to know how we were doing. Ben ignored the question after I fumbled an answer because we haven't addressed anything past getting the chores up to date and being together.

I made chicken pot pies and tea and we didn't talk, we just ate. I yawned and we went to bed and slept and slept and slept and Ben woke up smiling and I threw my arms around him and he said he liked being alone with me but I had cold skin and he was going to get my clothes for me.

I did not have the heart to point out that my usual heat is from convection from Loch, or that there's an elephant here in the room with us and we haven't fed or walked it yet.

But he does not need to be told these things. He already knows.
She stood in the doorway, the ghost of a smile
Haunting her face like a cheap hotel sign.
Her cold eyes imploring the men in their macs
For the gold in their bags or the knives in their backs.
Stepping up boldly one put out his hand.
He said, "I was just a child then, now I'm only a man.
Do you remember me? How we used to be?
Do you think we should be closer?"