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My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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9:12 a.m. - 2010-02-04
I'm going to see if I can get this finished before I leave for the gym. Not for any special reason other than I need to kick my brain into gear before doing something complex like driving the car. As yesterday wore on the distracted overwhelmed the grumpy and by the time Wolf got home I was able to give him a wicked case of the giggling snorts with my tales of "Duh". It had turned into a real 'milk in the cabinet, phonebook in the fridge' kind of day. Walking into walls when one hasn't even had any good drugs is no fun whatsoever. But many good things came my way too. I got a fantastic birthday giftie in the mail! Lovely Anna sent the cutest triptych of wee bitty canvases and a fab card. I was so excited when I saw the package in the mailbox, it had a customs stamp on it and had a postmark from the Royal Post and was just so wonderfully foreign! The canvases themselves were terrific, together a panorama of those clever pastel colored beach huts that just scream, "English seashore!" I love those things and I love Anna for remembering I do. And for sending those gems and her love all the way from England. Thanks, Anna! You are a boon friend. Upon arriving home from work Mick immediately sussed out how it was with me and rather than take the risk of me blowing up the house trying to cook dinner he insisted we hie ourselves off to the buffet. An inspired choice as I don't think I even had the brain power to order off a menu. At the buffet I could wander around taking random scoops of this and that and not be forced into doing anything more complicated than keeping my plate level and finding my way back to our table. Wolf was still a sizzle with the giggles over my vagueness, though he did pat me kindly and said he was sorry I was so severely afflicted with 'menopause brain'. A term he picked up from his beloved 'Zits' comics. I believe he was right. Along with being a complete whack-a-doo, I was also a teeny bit over-emotional. At dinner I said I was feeling the need to watch 'Forrest Gump' and bent a look at Mick to warn him I didn't want to hear any of his crap about my Gump love. No fan of Mrs Gump's good hearted son, Mick held himself to a grouchy mutter declaring that Forrest Gump should have been castaway. I laughed and said Forrest Gump had been castaway, which we both knew, of course. This slotted off into a discussion about how weird it was that Mick loathed Gump but adored 'Castaway'. I said the only part of that movie that moved me was when Wilson floated away. Just saying it brought a lump to my throat. Mick smirked and said, "There goes Wilson floating away! Good bye, Wilson!" That's when the tears started to roll and I choked out, "Don't! Wilson was his only friend!" Wolf and Mick looked at me gape mouthed as I sat in the Chinese buffet openly weeping over the loss of a volleyball. A volleyball in a goddamn Tom Hanks movie. And I'm crying into my fried dumplings like a total fool. Yup, this menopause thing is a killer. After dinner we went to the yuppie grocery and bought a dinner plate-sized brownie frosted with peanut butter and raspberry preserves. There'd been the same confection on the table in the break room at Mick's work yesterday and he'd fallen in love with it. Declaring it the best dessert EVER! He had to have one. The grocery was packed! You'd think they were giving the food away. It was a frigid Wednesday evening and the joint was bursting at the seams. I've never figured out the attraction with this place anyhow, it's overpriced, snooty, and the layout is horrible. Even Shoprite's cramped aisles have a semblance of a traffic pattern. Not this place- heaps of stuff, jutting oddly shaped counters, tables, tottering stacks of boxes, all of it strewn around with no discernable pattern or sense at all. Less orderly than a Who concert and just as crowded. From now on Mick can get his damn brownie fix on his own, I never want to go back to that place again. Then across the road to Barnes and Noble. I picked up a copy of The Necklace. Not the story by Guy de Maupassant, obviously. But it looked intriguing and it was as firm a decision as I could muster at the time. It should be a fairly quick read, I'll let you know how it turns out. Then like an idiot I picked up THIS and before I knew it I was blubbering again. Mick spotted me and gently pried it out of my hands and then wiped my messy face with my scarf. "Honey, why do you do this to yourself? You're too sweet to read things like this in public. No more bunny stories, okay?" He was remembering the time in Borders when, not long after Alex cut himself out of my life, I stupidly tried to read 'The Runaway Bunny' aloud to Wolf and started howling so hard Mick had to drag me out of the store by my armpits. It was our favorite book to read together, you see. Alex always made the same joke when the bunny threatens to turn into a boy and run into a house. "Wham!" Alex would say. See, the boy ran into the house, get it? We'd laugh and laugh. And� Ow! Mick's right. No more bunny stories.
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