Sunday Morning

Tim's birthday lunch. Date with Mitchell. Both Saturday. Birthday barbie starts at 3pm, easily can excuse myself by 7, pushing 8pm.

Nicholas looked handsome in dark tracky pants. He fills them out good, especially from the side profile. I think he know it, though. I've caught him with a coy, blushing look... as he declared his meat "cooked" from the bbq.

Tim had knock off Prada sunglasses he was very proud of.

"Oh spoil me," I said to myself, as I washed hands. "Great barbie!" I thought of texting it to Mitchell, but thought the explanation was beyond me on a phone keyboard. Laughed at myself for retreating to the toilet." I laughed, almost ashamedly, at myself in the bathroom mirror.

"One of your best friend's mother has an epileptic fit in the middle of a birthday lunch, Christian and you think the equivalent of, Oh there's a thing, I need to go to the toilet.

Judi had been picked up off the floor and removed, when I returned, may have been the best move of the afternoon.

Didn't stop her having another bong, mind you.

That and deciding to stick to my original plan, when I got cold sitting in the court yard and leave at 7pm. It was 7.30, but half an hour in Christian time, let's face it, is on time. I was staggering off up Napier by 7.36, in the cool wind and the dying afternoon sun.

Mitchell was over by 9.30. We watched a movie, Trust that Man. Mitchell picked it out from all the Asian knock offs David brings back from his travels.

Mitchell finally christened my sheets. Made his claim. Left his mark. He is the same size as me, I like that. He feels good in my arms. He feels comfy snuggling on the lounge. He looked cute asleep next to me on the pillow, this morning.

We drank coffee and ate muesli and smoked cigarettes sitting on the back veranda in the morning sun.

I'm not used to having someone around Sunday mornings, so to speak. Out of practice. It was easy. It was nice. He left right on queue.

I was impressed.

I had the day to myself.

I wrote.