Last night Steady and I got Indian take-out. I was unloading the bag onto my not-quite-a-disaster-but-also-not-at-all-clean kitchen table when the lid to the rice flew off. Rice all over the table. This did not come as a big shock to me; I spill a lot. That’s mostly why my carpet looks like that. I immediately started scooping the rice back into the container.
Steady tried to help at first, but then it was burning his hands. Most of the rice had landed on the hand-drawn card my mother made for me for Valentine’s Day. Around when things got clean enough to tell that this was the case, the boy proposed that we just not eat the rice that had been touching my table. I wasn't going to argue that he should eat it, but I wasn't gonna waste it just because it had touched my table.
I picked up the card and scraped the rice off of it and onto my plate. Then I looked over and saw my boyfriend picking something out of his rice and making quite a disgusted face. I asked what the problem was. The rice was blue.
I thought he should just eat the blue rice. Obviously it got that way from the markers on the card that had not been sitting on that table for all that long. And Elementary School markers are never toxic.
This morning, I woke up with the beginnings of my annual sinus extravaganza. Before I rinsed my mouth out eighteen times with Listerine, like that’s going to suddenly stop what I am reasonably confident are allergies (except that I’m not allowed to have allergies because that’s just not the kind of thing we do in our family), I ran into the living room, grabbed my flashlight and took a look at my sore throat.
My right tonsil was just so amazingly swollen that I tried to make my boyfriend wake up and look at it. He declined.
When he had that lingering throat thing, I really wanted to shine a flashlight in his mouth and check it out, but he wouldn’t let me do that either. I thought it sounded like great entertainment. He told me to stop being weird.
So, we’re driving along on Saturday and we’ve been very good about not bickering about the music selections and taking turns the entire time. Steady decides that 10,000 Maniacs sounds like a good choice and I wholeheartedly agree.
Well, the CD wouldn’t play. So, I popped it out and examined it. It was goopy. I’ve learned from several other shocked reactions that you’re supposed to tell people before you lick your dirty CDs. I warned him; then I licked it. I don’t know if he’ll ever look at me the same way again.
The other day, I mentioned something about my mother’s impending visit (okay, so, I mention it like every five minutes because I am really excited about seeing my mom). Steady looked at me and asked in just the most hopeful tone you can imagine if this meant that maybe this weekend I wanted to spend like a whole day cleaning my apartment. He wanted to let me know that he could help with that.
