Typical for Saturdays now, I went to Mica’s in the morning so we could take the little white dog to the dog park before the heat of the day hit. Until now we have avoided teaching him “dog park,” because we didn’t want to have to start spelling that in conversation. We’ve changed our minds with the hope that he will learn to associate car rides with fun. I don’t know. We spend too much time trying to out think a Bichon Schnauzer.
After we dropped him off and made sure he was cooling down OK, we went with me to my office. I needed Mica’s help to set up a backdrop and be my guinea pig as I experimented with camera settings and poses. I need to retake staff portraits. What they have now makes everyone look like they’re in a mug shot.
It was back to her house and the little white dog. He was all about me which doesn’t happen that often anymore.
I told her about the Paris conversation and how it didn’t go the way I thought it would. All these months I’ve dreaded and tried to avoid bringing up past relationships--that one in particular. I thought it would point out all of my flaws, all of the reasons he should look elsewhere. It’s true I didn’t give him blow by blow details, but I also think there was only one loser in that whole situation and it wasn’t me.
Mica rubbed behind the little white dog’s ears and told him in a talking-to-the-dog voice. “And it only took her more years than you’ve been alive to figure that out!”
“Who’s not as funny as she thinks she is?” I asked him. He abstained from commenting.
After stopping at home for a shower and a change into non-furry clothes, I went to Blaine’s. The roof over the deck is coming along. They expect to finish it next week. He told me he got lucky. The developer built the first three sets of townhouses with footings that will support the addition of a roof. Further down the block, they’ll have to have new ones poured if they want the addition. I nodded thoughtfully as he shared this.
I don’t think I mentioned that his new Bluetooth speakers arrived. Those who delivered them had no idea what he was talking about when he said they were to set them up too. He hired the daughter of someone he works with to do it. She recommended arranging all of them in the open space of the kitchen, living and dining rooms for more of a surround sound. It sounds great. He moved the old ones into the bedroom. In the smaller space, they sound awesome too.
“Now all you have to do is learn how to use Spotify or Pandora,” I teased.
Propped up on pillows, we set up a Spotify account on his phone and started saving music. Whereas I look for whatever springs to mind and organize it into playlists later (or never), he needs to be methodical. Genre, artist, playlist.
It was dark when we realized we hadn’t gotten around to having dinner. “See,” I said, “this is why I embrace peanut butter toast. You need a little something, you stick a piece of bread in the slot and you get toast.”
“Toast!” he exclaimed.
My mouth dropped open. “You do not know the toast song.”
“All around the country and coast to coast,” he began, “people always say what do you like most? I don’t want to brag, I don’t want to boast, I always tell ‘em I like toast.”
“Yeah, TOAST!”
As if I needed another reason to like him.
0 comments:
Post a Comment