Last night I took my crown, polished it all up nice so that it would sparkle in the firelight, put Wings on the stereo and did the mother of all stripteases for Lochlan, who hasn't seen those kinds of moves for twenty years and probably wouldn't appreciate it if you asked him straight up but what do you know? He joined me in the fun, bringing the bottle of wine with him.
Let Me Roll It, indeed. It was appreciated and I did that thing where I woke up sideways in bed, my hair so tangled in his fingers that I may still have to cut it. I bit into his chest in two separate places hard enough to leave little morning-teeth marks and he looks deliriously content on this rainy Saturday morning while he sips his coffee. We took Ruth to work early and got some coffee on the way home and I'm still practicing being good at this, this carrying around a big paper cup with a plastic lid and I keep forgetting it's there.
This isn't a thing that I do, I complain when I wonder for the fifth time where I left the damn thing.
Me neither, he laughs. On the show we were used to tiny styrofoam cups full of watery coffee-type liquid and it made me have to pee all the time (still does) and it tasted so good I'll never be able to replicate it but I try, which involves not trying. Use shit ground fine coffee, not quite enough of it and a regular coffee maker and it comes pretty close and it's a big heaping serving of nostalgia in a cup is what it is. As was Let Me Roll It in the dark and we're at the point in the week where we can lean our heads together, clink those crowns lightly so that they sound like bells and smile at each other stupidly because sober is best or something like that.
Though we split the wine so not even that, honestly.
He always likes the parts of life best that don't involve the devil. Who can blame him? I can't.