Fear fun, fear love
Fresh out of fucks forever
Trying to be stronger for you
Ice cream, ice queen
I dream in jeans and leather
Life's dream I'm sweet for you
Lying on Daniel's giant pizza slice inflatable pool float today. It's big enough for four people. It's vegetarian. I am stretched out between a cartoon cross-section of a mushroom and what I think is a blob of green pepper. It's a horrible thing, this, with terrible graphics and worse colors, but it's also the only one big enough for me to step onto and stretch out on without getting wet.
As such I have my airpods with me, an item that is positively banned from poolside, a rule I break every chance I get.
If you ruin them I'm not replacing them and neither are you, Lochlan says. Then what will you do?
Listen to my music on the speakers. Then they all can be treated to Venice Bitch played on repeat for four hours straight and they'll know what my brain can be like.
Better than they do now, I mean.
Daniel's not going to rat me out. He made a big show of cramming his giant frame onto my floating chaise with attached...uh..leg holder.
Ahem, it's called a footrest, Daniel says.
Then why does it end just under your knees?
Because it's for kids, he reminds me.
(Everything they get for me is built for your average ten-year-old. You should see my tiny kayak. It's like a little curled blue leaf and it's about half the length of theirs.) and he's not saying a word, though I know his arse is soaked through already because it's almost submerged from his weight. He's so tanned. I could stare forever. He looks like Ben but friendly. Wet.
It's hard to get Ben into the pool some weeks. The days run together for him. He probably doesn't know it's Wednesday. He doesn't know there's a long weekend coming up. PJ and I already grocery shopped. The gardening is done. I made jam. The house is clean, beds are fresh, gifts are collected and wrapped for next week, a week that sees Ruth and Lochlan have birthdays (twenty and fifty-four, respectively, where is the time going holy shit) and we're ready. I'll bake cakes this weekend and finish up decorating.
And it's thirty-eight degrees in the sun right now. The music is melting into my brain. It's going to be stuck fast and we'll never get it off.
Bridget. What the fuck.
Oh shit. Lochlan's noticed the headphones. He charges into the pool and pushes the pizza to the edge where PJ stands with an equally disapproving glare. PJ leans down, one hand out and I begrudgingly give him my airpods.
Last warning or you don't get them back, Lochlan says.
For fucks sakes! I protest and I turn and roll off the float into the deep end.
As such I have my airpods with me, an item that is positively banned from poolside, a rule I break every chance I get.
If you ruin them I'm not replacing them and neither are you, Lochlan says. Then what will you do?
Listen to my music on the speakers. Then they all can be treated to Venice Bitch played on repeat for four hours straight and they'll know what my brain can be like.
Better than they do now, I mean.
Daniel's not going to rat me out. He made a big show of cramming his giant frame onto my floating chaise with attached...uh..leg holder.
Ahem, it's called a footrest, Daniel says.
Then why does it end just under your knees?
Because it's for kids, he reminds me.
(Everything they get for me is built for your average ten-year-old. You should see my tiny kayak. It's like a little curled blue leaf and it's about half the length of theirs.) and he's not saying a word, though I know his arse is soaked through already because it's almost submerged from his weight. He's so tanned. I could stare forever. He looks like Ben but friendly. Wet.
It's hard to get Ben into the pool some weeks. The days run together for him. He probably doesn't know it's Wednesday. He doesn't know there's a long weekend coming up. PJ and I already grocery shopped. The gardening is done. I made jam. The house is clean, beds are fresh, gifts are collected and wrapped for next week, a week that sees Ruth and Lochlan have birthdays (twenty and fifty-four, respectively, where is the time going holy shit) and we're ready. I'll bake cakes this weekend and finish up decorating.
And it's thirty-eight degrees in the sun right now. The music is melting into my brain. It's going to be stuck fast and we'll never get it off.
Bridget. What the fuck.
Oh shit. Lochlan's noticed the headphones. He charges into the pool and pushes the pizza to the edge where PJ stands with an equally disapproving glare. PJ leans down, one hand out and I begrudgingly give him my airpods.
Last warning or you don't get them back, Lochlan says.
For fucks sakes! I protest and I turn and roll off the float into the deep end.