(Repeat after me, Bridget. I love my friends. I love my friends...)
This morning after playing driver, PJ came inside with me and stood there watching while I took off my mittens, hat, scarf, coat and boots. Then he grabbed me and ran back outside, where he held me out eight inches above the snowbank and he asked if I wanted to be really cold. I shrieked and squealed and swore at him, begging him to take me back in. He made me promise not to listen to anymore sad songs or any more Jake-songs for a while.
Okay! Fine! Jesus, Peej! This isn't funny anymore! Okay! I PROMISE!
His mission accomplished, I was deposited back inside. I was shivering and went to get a blanket as he asked me for a box. I reminded him where they were and he was back in thirty seconds and went straight to the living room, taking my hard drive from Cole's computer, taking roughly eighty percent of my CDs off their shelves and putting them in the box, which he then took out to his truck, amid great protest. He came back and deleted iTunes off my machines and wiped Media Player, for good measure. He said I could listen to the radio but only the fast songs, and he did leave a few CDs.
Huh.
Let's see. Rush, AC/DC, The Police and Iron Maiden. Oh, and his entire collection of Scandinavian death metal.
Woo.
He promised me I could have everything back later and we would do what was done with Phish when Cole died-send it away until I could deal with it a little better. Then he gave me a good hard hug and asked if I would feed him dinner tonight.
I said he could have dinner here every night for the rest of the month if he liked. He smiled and then said he had to make a few calls and then if I wanted he'd walk Butters and I could come too. I said sure and he went off down the hall, pulling out his phone.
One of the joys of being this tiny is being able to hide in the guys' footsteps and shadows. I walked right behind PJ as he dialed and waited for the pick up.
Yeah, Ben? I've got everything, brother. Good plan....yeah....okay, talk to you later...bye.
(PS. Dear Padraig. You're so busted! Also-you missed all the songs on my phone. Love, Bridget XOX.)
