Monday 17 February 2014

Airport extreme.

Duncan left this morning for a ten-week stint overseas. We're not worried about this run for him, the guys he'll be working for are all in the program now and long past their crazy years.

Gotta pay the bills, Princess, and he laughed. I think he feels old. I think he feels the pull of our family, wanting to stay home and just hang out forever when he really does need to take a couple of gigs a year to break even. 

What about your future? I ask him when he says he's turned things down. 

Beloved honorary hunkle and bouncer, affection meat lump for the princess? I think I have my hands full right here, he laughs and I stamp my feet in frustration. 

Go! Have a life! Get the girls! Bag it and tag it, Poet! Christ! Don't sit around here and watch me mope around and start shit. 

Well, at least you admit it now, but that's not what I do here.

What do you do then?

I sit around and molest you in my mind. 

Oh, well that's classy and wrong and completely wonderful.

Not the way I play it out in my imagination, it's not.

So today was sort of comforting in that he's taken a job and not comforting in that the balance tips against me in the house from where Lochlan and I seek people who agree with us so that our arguments are evenly matched. 

I'll bring you back some souvenirs, Duncan tells me. He's stalling. Last-minute regrets. 

Bring back yourself. D&D free, no babies. 

Yes, Mom. 

Don't call me Mom. 

Don't tell me not to go out into the world and get everyone pregnant. 

How will you support them all if you have a crowd of kids by Christmastime?

I'll sell my poems. Holiday-themed ones.

Oh, Jesus. You are flighty, Dunk. 

Not as much as you. 

I'm not out there planting seeds everywhere. 

God, you're crass for such a pretty little thing. 

I live with your friends. 

I need to talk to them about this. The 'lady' part of you is waning.

Good! I hope I grow a penis. 

Why?

So I can write my name in the snow! It's on my bucket list! Don't you ever pay attention?

Phew. I thought you were going to say something alot worse. 

Shhhhh. We won't speak of the other things I'll do. See you when you get home, Poet. 

If I come back and you've already grown a penis, don't ever tell me, okay?

Promise. Besides, I wouldn't tell you, I'd SHOW you. But I only want the penis, not the balls because balls are gross. 

They're less gross than vaginas. 

Nuh-uh. Vaginas are fun. 

You win again! See you before your birthday.

Don't be late. We're having a party.

Don't grow a penis! He yelled and then he was gone through the gate and I realized departures was full of people staring at me.