(The fortune teller saw this in a past life. To a tee. I should have believed her but I didn't because after she told me everything Lochlan appeared, put his arm around my neck and pulled me away, telling me not to listen to the crazy old woman. He said she works for Wegmans when she's not with the show and doesn't know how to spell the future, let alone see it. He laughed and that was the end of that.)
As the breeze blew in against the cliff, I watched a million shreds of silver paper flutter into the sea.
Three evenings, three envelopes and tonight Ben has resorted to sitting on the verandah waiting for the devil in the flesh. You see, last night the devil didn't appear, instead sending John with the car, thinking that if I were to travel with Lochlan I might be more inclined to show up at all.
He would be wrong.
I ran out to the car in my bare feet in the dark after staring at it through the window for the better part of an hour and I told John to go home, that I wasn't going in town, that he shouldn't come back and yet another envelope was delivered tonight around six by a city courier company, wedged in the front gate, insistent on a hand delivery that failed because I refused. John will be here later. Like clockwork. Or maybe Caleb himself will come back because this behavior is unusual. This is what Ben would like to see, anyway.
We refuse because I know what Caleb is doing. He doesn't want Ben there, he wants to punish me for venturing too close to the truth and he wants to punish Lochlan for breathing, by making him watch. Caleb's a sick fuck like that, and he's got an axe to grind that has nothing to do with Ben. (I guess that changes too, now). Oddly enough, Caleb quite enjoys Ben, they get along well.
They get along well but Ben is tired of the fear and tired of the sickness and sober enough (thank you very much) to see the wearing and tearing on his princess. He doesn't care about the past. He cares about the present and he cares about our future and neither of those things is going to be sent three steps back and then stumbled over the low railing into the fires of hell. Not on his watch, not anymore. What he considers to be Lochlan's hold is over. Been there, done that, have a t-shirt and a lifetime of psychological scars to prove it. Maybe Jake's methods of barring the door were of the best intentions until Lochlan and then Caleb somehow got to him (I still don't know if that's true). Maybe it will work better for Ben. Ben can't be bought. He only has three weaknesses. Bridget, sex and mind-altering substances so really, how can his plan go wrong?
So he stood on the porch in his jeans and his bare feet (something new) and a black tank top and he tore those envelopes up into little pieces and they're everywhere, scattered all over the front lawn, in the trees, in the grapevines far out by the cliffs and all over the porch. I imagine the wind will take what's left away overnight.
I wonder if I'll still be alive to check.
You see, when push comes to shove here, my knights go into Protect Bridget mode. That's where we are right now. I am the singular focus of everyone in the house and it's an odd and uncomfortable position. One that cricks my neck and makes my knees ache. Hiding behind Ben, sitting cross-legged on the porch as he sits on the top step, my hands gripping the back of his shirt, my head down, pressed against his back, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer in some sort of ultimate sick joke because God does not have the power to save me from Satan and neither does Ben.
No worries, little bee. He can't have you. None of them can. You're mine now. Mine.
I just squeezed my eyes together a little tighter and resumed my prayers to the fallen angels in my concrete room. They will protect Ben for me. The beautiful part is he knows what he's up against, and he wanted me anyway.
Now we wait.
Saturday 14 August 2010
Friday 13 August 2010
Hollow win.
It was mechanical. Wooden and resigned.
The envelope came on Thursday evening. Not the red one I was expecting for notes on some changes to the health plan but the dreaded dark silver instead. The request for my company, as if inside might be a million dollars and I am the commodity traded publicly for a song few can sing.
I didn't open it. I just left it by the door and I went upstairs and began to dress. Stockings. Stilettos. One of his dresses. Hair up so he can take it down. No jewelry. None at all. The inside of my brain is jello. Alternating the current of thrill with the dread of knowing it could always be the last trip because I stand as the last living witness to his transformation into a monster. I was there, you see? It's my fault.
I turn around to inspect the seams on my stockings and Ben is in the doorway, holding the envelope.
Deja you, princess.
Deja yourself. You ready?
I'm not invited and you're not going.
What do you mean?
The invitation is for you and Lochlan. He knows, princess. He knows we let him back in. You can't go.
I have to, Ben.
We'll figure out something else.
Something else? We've had a quarter of a century to do that. Nothing works. It just makes everything more difficult if I fight it.
Bridget, I haven't had a quarter century to fight it. Lochlan hasn't tried to do anything.
He created this.
I wave my hands around to indicate my life. Panic is rising like bile now. I feel like I'm choking, drowning. I have already switched into Cole-mode now and there's no going back.
Guilt, Bridget. He feels guilty. And the first minute he thinks you're safe he vanishes. What kind of love is that?
I don't know, Ben. I don't know anything anymore.
Me neither but I know this is wrong and I know I'm not going to let you go.
You new guys are so noble.
A condescending voice from behind Ben in the hallway made us both jump. Timed perfectly to arrive in his little 350z to take me away to the dungeon in the sky as soon as I would have had time to prepare after receiving the envelope had I not been ambushed.
Always wanting to rescue little Bridget. Always pointing out everything that is wrong with her. Giving in to so many of her whims and then acting outraged when she won't stop. When you have enough and she still won't stop.
She stops today. Ben says it so softly, I'm still not a hundred percent sure that's what he said.
You know what happened to the last man who tried to keep me from seeing her, don't you? Or have you holed up with your guitar and your bottle so long you don't remember things quite so clearly anymore, Benny? Do you think he left her on purpose? Anyone can be bought. Anyone. Don't make me have to buy you. I've left you in this position because you're not a threat to me. Don't make me change my mind.
In that split second I made a choice to believe that he was lying. Protect thyself. Oh to hell with it.
I walked over to Caleb. Slowly. Heart thumping so loud my gait is wobbly in those stupid shoes. He smiles at me. Victorious.
Or not.
I slapped him.
Hard.
I came up again, going for more but he grabbed my wrist and squeezed until my bones grated but I didn't cry out because my insides had turned to dust from the doubt creeping back in.
Caleb paid Jake to go and he changed his mind and couldn't live with the guilt.
It all makes sense now. All of it. Every last thing. Every last measure of confusion blown away leaving one final secret. Caleb's.
I waited for him to relax his hold. It took a while. We had a staredown. One that's been twenty-seven years in the making.
There's no statute of limitations on what you did.
There isn't one on Lochlan either. If I go down, so does he, and then you'd be without your fucking Siamese twin. Ben would be wise to encourage you to rat everyone out but at this point they are all so afraid of your head that the status-quo, ticking-time-bomb fragile princess everyone can get a piece of seems like a safer bet, don't you think?
He dropped my wrist and walked out and within the space of a minute I heard the car start up and he drove away.
The envelope came on Thursday evening. Not the red one I was expecting for notes on some changes to the health plan but the dreaded dark silver instead. The request for my company, as if inside might be a million dollars and I am the commodity traded publicly for a song few can sing.
I didn't open it. I just left it by the door and I went upstairs and began to dress. Stockings. Stilettos. One of his dresses. Hair up so he can take it down. No jewelry. None at all. The inside of my brain is jello. Alternating the current of thrill with the dread of knowing it could always be the last trip because I stand as the last living witness to his transformation into a monster. I was there, you see? It's my fault.
I turn around to inspect the seams on my stockings and Ben is in the doorway, holding the envelope.
Deja you, princess.
Deja yourself. You ready?
I'm not invited and you're not going.
What do you mean?
The invitation is for you and Lochlan. He knows, princess. He knows we let him back in. You can't go.
I have to, Ben.
We'll figure out something else.
Something else? We've had a quarter of a century to do that. Nothing works. It just makes everything more difficult if I fight it.
Bridget, I haven't had a quarter century to fight it. Lochlan hasn't tried to do anything.
He created this.
I wave my hands around to indicate my life. Panic is rising like bile now. I feel like I'm choking, drowning. I have already switched into Cole-mode now and there's no going back.
Guilt, Bridget. He feels guilty. And the first minute he thinks you're safe he vanishes. What kind of love is that?
I don't know, Ben. I don't know anything anymore.
Me neither but I know this is wrong and I know I'm not going to let you go.
You new guys are so noble.
A condescending voice from behind Ben in the hallway made us both jump. Timed perfectly to arrive in his little 350z to take me away to the dungeon in the sky as soon as I would have had time to prepare after receiving the envelope had I not been ambushed.
Always wanting to rescue little Bridget. Always pointing out everything that is wrong with her. Giving in to so many of her whims and then acting outraged when she won't stop. When you have enough and she still won't stop.
She stops today. Ben says it so softly, I'm still not a hundred percent sure that's what he said.
You know what happened to the last man who tried to keep me from seeing her, don't you? Or have you holed up with your guitar and your bottle so long you don't remember things quite so clearly anymore, Benny? Do you think he left her on purpose? Anyone can be bought. Anyone. Don't make me have to buy you. I've left you in this position because you're not a threat to me. Don't make me change my mind.
In that split second I made a choice to believe that he was lying. Protect thyself. Oh to hell with it.
I walked over to Caleb. Slowly. Heart thumping so loud my gait is wobbly in those stupid shoes. He smiles at me. Victorious.
Or not.
I slapped him.
Hard.
I came up again, going for more but he grabbed my wrist and squeezed until my bones grated but I didn't cry out because my insides had turned to dust from the doubt creeping back in.
Caleb paid Jake to go and he changed his mind and couldn't live with the guilt.
It all makes sense now. All of it. Every last thing. Every last measure of confusion blown away leaving one final secret. Caleb's.
I waited for him to relax his hold. It took a while. We had a staredown. One that's been twenty-seven years in the making.
There's no statute of limitations on what you did.
There isn't one on Lochlan either. If I go down, so does he, and then you'd be without your fucking Siamese twin. Ben would be wise to encourage you to rat everyone out but at this point they are all so afraid of your head that the status-quo, ticking-time-bomb fragile princess everyone can get a piece of seems like a safer bet, don't you think?
He dropped my wrist and walked out and within the space of a minute I heard the car start up and he drove away.
Thursday 12 August 2010
Bridget 4.0, now with gapless playback.
What the hell have I meantToday is a lipgloss print on a cool windowpane, a squeeze of a hand just a memory as you walk away toward the noise and the light and I remain in the silent dark to wait, arms wrapped around the second hand of the clock in an effort to swing forward to speed it up.
If this how the day ends, I regret
Close your eyes and dream now
The world so far
your heart sounds alone
and I connect
In all the ways I've dreamed you
I chose a song to reach you
But why it's sad again
Only now I see it
Today is a chocolate sugar cone with a hole in the bottom, summer dripping down the steps and across the patio, smeared into rays of blistering afternoon sun and wishes for an ocean of ice.
Today is a note held by a voice that is oxygen to the ears, and then left to fade into a clash of leads and fills, the memory of a melody so familiar that pause fails to take away the sound and my gratitude swells to bursting.*
Today is a text message to herald the beginning of the trip home in the same late sun, the screech of brakes and the wail of the train whistle through the trees starting a slow count to your arrival at the door, somehow timed perfectly, somehow timed to save.
Today is almost finished.
Wednesday 11 August 2010
The man who stayed behind.
Eighty-eight steps down, my hand on the smooth pewter of a railing forged painstakingly. Beautiful work. The joins almost seamless but slightly raised so as not to pinch or catch. The scrollwork in each step left unfinished for traction on the ice-cold metal.
I have descended this staircase a thousand times and every time is with a death grip and my eyes glued to that railing for guidance. That railing is the only thing that separates my life without Jake from life with Jake.
I am in bare feet and a slip of a nightgown this time. That's why I'm so cold. My clairaudience for Jacob's voice waking me from a fitful sleep means I have to check on him. Maybe he is cold too. Maybe something is wrong. Maybe he found a way to sculpt himself back to life out of the thimbleful or two of ashes I have left.
In my distraction I stumble on the step and sit down hard, still with both hands on the railing, now high above my head. I have twisted my elbows and the pain from the dislocation flares up white hot and I let go. I rest my forehead against the center post and automatically smooth my gown around my legs. I close my eyes.
A warm arm slides around my shoulders and pulls me in.
I open my eyes and look up. Ben kisses my forehead.
Why are you down here again, bee?
I'm looking for Jake.
He isn't here, baby. Come back up.
He's here. I heard him again.
Come on, Bridget. Let's go back to bed.
No.
I pulled away and stood up. I wobbled on the next step down and four hands shot out. Ben caught my shoulders and two hands came out of the dark and caught my hands. Jacob's glorious crown of gold came into the light.
He's right, princess. You need sleep.
You called for me. I'm here because you need me.
I don't do that, honey. You really should be sleeping.
I'm just staring at his eyes. Out here, outside of the concrete room with the fear of Cole keeping me cold his eyes are different only I don't know how, exactly, they just are. I want to know if he can still do it. Still hypnotize me. Still pull me in and keep me there to do whatever he wants me to do, or make me feel things that aren't real like security and peace to buy himself time to get untangled from my emotional tentacles. He didn't want to drown so he exploded mid-flight instead. You want to talk about dramatic exits? I'll show you a fucking dramatic exit.
I shake my head. I can't think.
I let go of his hands and turned around, giving him my back so he could read the words he has sung and I looked up at Ben. I nodded.
I need to sleep.
Ben took my hand and pulled it up under his arm tightly in hand and we went back up the steps. Slowly this time. He is humming under his breath and I am well aware I have just been spellbound and that's it's for my own good. Bridget functions better vaguely mesmerized, and Jacob knows that. That's why he called for me. Only I need to work out why he still has the same abilities he had before.
I also need to check and see if all of my forks are bent again. Jacob loved to destroy the cutlery without touching it. I wish I could do that.
Oh, wait, maybe I don't.
I have descended this staircase a thousand times and every time is with a death grip and my eyes glued to that railing for guidance. That railing is the only thing that separates my life without Jake from life with Jake.
I am in bare feet and a slip of a nightgown this time. That's why I'm so cold. My clairaudience for Jacob's voice waking me from a fitful sleep means I have to check on him. Maybe he is cold too. Maybe something is wrong. Maybe he found a way to sculpt himself back to life out of the thimbleful or two of ashes I have left.
In my distraction I stumble on the step and sit down hard, still with both hands on the railing, now high above my head. I have twisted my elbows and the pain from the dislocation flares up white hot and I let go. I rest my forehead against the center post and automatically smooth my gown around my legs. I close my eyes.
A warm arm slides around my shoulders and pulls me in.
I open my eyes and look up. Ben kisses my forehead.
Why are you down here again, bee?
I'm looking for Jake.
He isn't here, baby. Come back up.
He's here. I heard him again.
Come on, Bridget. Let's go back to bed.
No.
I pulled away and stood up. I wobbled on the next step down and four hands shot out. Ben caught my shoulders and two hands came out of the dark and caught my hands. Jacob's glorious crown of gold came into the light.
He's right, princess. You need sleep.
You called for me. I'm here because you need me.
I don't do that, honey. You really should be sleeping.
I'm just staring at his eyes. Out here, outside of the concrete room with the fear of Cole keeping me cold his eyes are different only I don't know how, exactly, they just are. I want to know if he can still do it. Still hypnotize me. Still pull me in and keep me there to do whatever he wants me to do, or make me feel things that aren't real like security and peace to buy himself time to get untangled from my emotional tentacles. He didn't want to drown so he exploded mid-flight instead. You want to talk about dramatic exits? I'll show you a fucking dramatic exit.
I shake my head. I can't think.
I let go of his hands and turned around, giving him my back so he could read the words he has sung and I looked up at Ben. I nodded.
I need to sleep.
Ben took my hand and pulled it up under his arm tightly in hand and we went back up the steps. Slowly this time. He is humming under his breath and I am well aware I have just been spellbound and that's it's for my own good. Bridget functions better vaguely mesmerized, and Jacob knows that. That's why he called for me. Only I need to work out why he still has the same abilities he had before.
I also need to check and see if all of my forks are bent again. Jacob loved to destroy the cutlery without touching it. I wish I could do that.
Oh, wait, maybe I don't.
Tuesday 10 August 2010
Four thousand volts.
Well, now.
My grandparents had farms when I was little. Tucked back along the South shore of the province. Low-tech ones, apparently. No hay balers. No power until the forties even. Root cellars. Bee hives. Actual off-the-grid self-sufficient farms.
Imagine my delight tonight when I ran up to the fence to greet the horses and got zapped halfway across the road. Oh, yes. Imagine my dismay when the horse came right up before I could get the gate open and also got blown halfway back to the tree line. And then he came right back and got zapped again.
Tonight the electric fence went live and the horse and I became each others learning curves. I didn't know. I knew it was there but it wasn't live, goddammit.
I left in tears because I didn't want him coming back a third time. Ben warned me not to get attached to them (as if that were even possible) and then laughed when I failed to recognize (and respect) the barrier put into place to keep the horses safe, not hurt them.
I'm calmer now. My elbow still feels weird and my ego is shot to hell but the plan tomorrow is to show up with carrots as a peace offering. And maybe rubber boots.
(Also: my pride is still up there under the apple tree if someone could please collect it for me.)
My grandparents had farms when I was little. Tucked back along the South shore of the province. Low-tech ones, apparently. No hay balers. No power until the forties even. Root cellars. Bee hives. Actual off-the-grid self-sufficient farms.
Imagine my delight tonight when I ran up to the fence to greet the horses and got zapped halfway across the road. Oh, yes. Imagine my dismay when the horse came right up before I could get the gate open and also got blown halfway back to the tree line. And then he came right back and got zapped again.
Tonight the electric fence went live and the horse and I became each others learning curves. I didn't know. I knew it was there but it wasn't live, goddammit.
I left in tears because I didn't want him coming back a third time. Ben warned me not to get attached to them (as if that were even possible) and then laughed when I failed to recognize (and respect) the barrier put into place to keep the horses safe, not hurt them.
I'm calmer now. My elbow still feels weird and my ego is shot to hell but the plan tomorrow is to show up with carrots as a peace offering. And maybe rubber boots.
(Also: my pride is still up there under the apple tree if someone could please collect it for me.)
Closed words and open letters.
Walking along the high tide lineI think I've got it now.
Watching the pacific from the sidelines
Wonder what it means to live together?
Looking for more than just guidelines
Looking for signs in the night sky,
Wishing that I wasn’t such a nice guy
Wonder what it means to live forever?
Wonder what it means to die?
I know that there's a meaning to it all
A little resurrection every time I fall
You got your babies, I got my hearses
Every blessing comes with a set of curses
I got my vices, I got my vice verses
I got my vice verses
The wind could be my new obsession
The wind could be my new depression
The wind goes anywhere it wants to
Wishing that I learned my lesson
The ocean sounds like a garage band
Coming at me like a drunk man
The ocean tells me a thousand stories
None of them are lies
Let the pacific laugh
Be on my epitaph
With it's rising and falling
And after all, it's just water
And I am just soul
With a body of water and bones
Water and bones
Where is God in the night sky?
Where is God in the city light?
Where is God in the earthquake?
Where is God in the genocide?
Where are you in my broken heart?
Everything seems to fall apart
Everything feels rusted over
Tell me that you're there
I know that there's a meaning to it all
A little resurrection every time I fall
You got your babies, I got my hearses
Every blessing comes with a set of curses
I got my vices, I got my vice verses
These are my vice verses
The crazy people are the ones who acknowledge and give voice to their feelings. The sane ones do not. I feel more fear for those who seem like they have it together than for those who have already fallen apart.
You're uncomfortable around it because it hits close to home and you know you're on the verge. Everything could disappear with one false move, your perfectly planned life an admitted departure from what you imagined it would be as you evolved into who you are today.
I'm not sure if I should apologize for the abruptness of your trip here or if I should welcome you in spite of your protests. Be comfortable with yourself. Now that the cat's out of the bag, you'll never get it back in. Just watch it run around.
Laugh.
You'll be okay now.
Monday 9 August 2010
Little miss patience.
Just. need. to. rant.
I have a huge peeve that doesn't come up often but when it does I want to scream right out of my skin. People who refer to a very short period of time as AGES ago. As in "I graduated from college a long time ago." and they stand there smugly and then when you ask the year they say 2007.
Or,
They've been dating forever.
How long is forever?
Like, eight MONTHS!
ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
This is not a long time period, people.
Oh, and today I saw something that was six years old referred to as vintage.
Stab me, please. In both the eyes and the ears.
I have a huge peeve that doesn't come up often but when it does I want to scream right out of my skin. People who refer to a very short period of time as AGES ago. As in "I graduated from college a long time ago." and they stand there smugly and then when you ask the year they say 2007.
Or,
They've been dating forever.
How long is forever?
Like, eight MONTHS!
ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
This is not a long time period, people.
Oh, and today I saw something that was six years old referred to as vintage.
Stab me, please. In both the eyes and the ears.
Jacob's chores.
I can see the starsI just realized Friday is August 13th.
From way down here
But I can't fall asleep
Behind the wheel
It's a long way from the
Shadows in my cave
Up to Your reality to
Watch the sunlight taking over
Take me over
I've been poison
I've been rain
I've been fooled again
I've seen ashes
Shine like chrome
Someday I'll see home
I don't enjoy Friday the thirteenths any more than I let a black cat cross my path or fail to toss some salt over my left shoulder should I spill any. I have had seven years of bad luck after breaking a mirror and I walk far out of my way around ladders, usually through puddles or in traffic, thank you very much.
I prefer to spend those days in bed with the covers up over my head but someone (was it Ben?) told me once that the bad luck was over by noon, exactly the same way that April Fools Day only lasts until lunch time and then after that you should expect no fooling.
Today went on forever and then it sped up to the point where I had to dig in my heels or be flung off again and I still have fresh bruises from the last time that happened. I did a lot of work and then came home and did some more and now we all get to sleep tonight with freshly washed sheets and clean bedrooms, and the laundry is folded and put away. I'm going to go recruit New-Jake to unload the dishwasher, since he has become somewhat of a...a...barnacle at the table, and then I'm going to convince the children it's time to go to bed, once New-Jake is through crashing around in the kitchen. This boy eats. I've never seen anything like it.
Mondays are not thrilling around her. Survivable possibly, but not thrilling.
Sunday 8 August 2010
Bait.
Today I stood on the freezing cold dock in the pouring rain and watched Ben and the kids catch rainbow trout. I even uh...casted? a few times but nothing bit my hook because the fish just have this sense when the person fishing is just going to scream and run around in circles once they hit daylight and be unable to calmly detach the hook and throw them back.
She's a killer, don't bite.
Har. Stupid fish. I had a plan in place. Catch the fish and then pass the rod to Ben.
See? I'm not dumb.
You'll be pleased to know I even wore jeans and sneakers and a sweater and no, the current Coach handbag stayed home where it was dry and warm and comfortable. I'm well aware that you were picturing me in my stilettos and a little ruffly black dress with mascara running in the rain holding up a lure by one hand and possibly considering it as an earring or a pendant.
You obviously missed the former part of 2010 where I singlehandedly conquered the plaster, a blizzard, and the second cross-country move on my own, didn't you? Go back and read. I'll wait. Also in there are some terrific gems about failed block heaters, leaky tires and real estate deals suitable for Nurburgring for their speed and handling.
See, the princess is required to be efficient. Because otherwise she wouldn't be able to floss her own teeth or buy groceries for the seven hundred boys she feeds because seriously that would be my preference. I have always said, why do it yourself when you can have a butler who does it for you?
Fine, I say it under my breath, when I'm alone in a room with the door closed, in an empty house on a street devoid of neighbors home during the day and I said it in French. Just once. But the thought is so nice, I sometimes daydream that I do have a butler and I finish a glass of juice and put it on the coffee table and I...I....
I leave the room (instead of taking it to the kitchen! Which I just passed! Efficiency is next to godliness!)
I am so hardcore.
I was fully prepared to shriek and howl and gut the fish if need be and then I was going to use the internet to figure out how to scale it and de-bone it and make it look like the fish at the market and maybe tinfoil? and lemons? could be good or something if the boys really did plan to make good on their refusals to help me.
I didn't have to fret for long. The fish was caught, the hook removed, and it took one look at me, shocked to see that its welcoming committee onto dry land was not wearing mascara or stilettos and it demanded to be thrown back, to be hopefully re-introduced to the shore by people in more appropriate attire next time.
If the butler had caught it, it would have been thrilled.
Told you.
She's a killer, don't bite.
Har. Stupid fish. I had a plan in place. Catch the fish and then pass the rod to Ben.
See? I'm not dumb.
You'll be pleased to know I even wore jeans and sneakers and a sweater and no, the current Coach handbag stayed home where it was dry and warm and comfortable. I'm well aware that you were picturing me in my stilettos and a little ruffly black dress with mascara running in the rain holding up a lure by one hand and possibly considering it as an earring or a pendant.
You obviously missed the former part of 2010 where I singlehandedly conquered the plaster, a blizzard, and the second cross-country move on my own, didn't you? Go back and read. I'll wait. Also in there are some terrific gems about failed block heaters, leaky tires and real estate deals suitable for Nurburgring for their speed and handling.
See, the princess is required to be efficient. Because otherwise she wouldn't be able to floss her own teeth or buy groceries for the seven hundred boys she feeds because seriously that would be my preference. I have always said, why do it yourself when you can have a butler who does it for you?
Fine, I say it under my breath, when I'm alone in a room with the door closed, in an empty house on a street devoid of neighbors home during the day and I said it in French. Just once. But the thought is so nice, I sometimes daydream that I do have a butler and I finish a glass of juice and put it on the coffee table and I...I....
I leave the room (instead of taking it to the kitchen! Which I just passed! Efficiency is next to godliness!)
I am so hardcore.
I was fully prepared to shriek and howl and gut the fish if need be and then I was going to use the internet to figure out how to scale it and de-bone it and make it look like the fish at the market and maybe tinfoil? and lemons? could be good or something if the boys really did plan to make good on their refusals to help me.
I didn't have to fret for long. The fish was caught, the hook removed, and it took one look at me, shocked to see that its welcoming committee onto dry land was not wearing mascara or stilettos and it demanded to be thrown back, to be hopefully re-introduced to the shore by people in more appropriate attire next time.
If the butler had caught it, it would have been thrilled.
Told you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)