Drunk on failure's regretsOne of the joys of this morning was shopping with August.
Letters of silence confess burdens within
Speaking as loneliness listens
While hopelessly feeling
Casted out
August sets his own schedule, and he's been an absolute godsend to me lately (maybe that's a Jakesend), hanging out, encouraging me to talk just a little more, not because he wants to get inside my head but so that everything inside my head can get out. He's listened to me prattle on since I met him, he thinks my head is extraordinary, and he thinks I'm beautiful. He's also one of the few who just hugs without asking, and for that alone, I'm going to get a very large jar, stuff him in it, and put him on the shelf as the one and only miracle product of Bridget's tiny apothecary.
We stopped at the tailor he uses, who is actually an ancient and wizened little Chinese lady who lives on the second floor of the most run-down building I have ever set foot in. She had him strip to the waist and she took about eight hundred measurements and she's going to make him four hemp dress shirts. Seriously. Bespoke hippie clothes, people. She asked him if his beautiful wife would like anything made, that she would be honored but I'll be damned if I could understand her and August repeated her question to me and I didn't want to be rude so she's going to make me a lovely olive-green wrap skirt. I think he is paying for it. I don't know, we go back in ten days and everything will be ready.
I was just very happy she didn't ask me to strip to take measurements. I think August was very happy I might someday be planning to wear something that isn't black, though I've become rather attached to my ability to walk into a room and suck the light out of it.
I suppose now you'll tell me that's not a good thing...
We finished our shopping by heading for the global market, as August is also hunting for a dress belt, the caveat being it has to be vegan. After an hour of looking and asking and googling on the go even I finally looked up, slightly crazed and asked him why the belt had to be vegan, if he had steak at my house last night? What code of ethics ran that show, anyway?
Hey, there was a pretty girl standing there holding a plate piled high with steak. Show me a Vegan who will turn that down and I'll show you a fucking idiot.
Except, once again I had to get him to slow it down and translate because his accent is still thicker than that of the tailor. I'm hoping that with time, that will change too.