Job Interview

Sam is keen on giving wet willies. I shouldn’t complain, as it was me who taught them to him. Right now, last count, he is winning. There are a few wet fingers that he is owed.

I’m up early getting the boxes from the spare bedroom storeroom and throwing them into my rubbish bin and the neighbours bins all up and down the street. It is amazing what you can throw away when you utilise all of the half-filled bins of the environmentally aware yuppies up and down the street.

It’s this week and Aby arrives and there is still stuff of Shane’s up in that room. I don't know when, when I rented a room to Shane, I agreed to him using the spare room to store his crap.

Sam stayed home, two sickies in a row unheard of, as he has a job interview today, 3pm. So it is another day of distractions where I don’t have to give the future any thought. In other words, an excuse not to write. I can piss around without regret. Do you realise that I suffer so on the other days?

We got up and had muesli, much to Sam’s continuing amazement, and coffee.
“How can you not be sick of that by now?” He raises his hands in the air. “It is quite beyond me, really.”

Sam tries on suits of mine. They are double breasted and bordering on old fashioned, but they look okay on him. (My single breasted suits are too big)
We head over to his house to get shirts and shoes. He gets his three-buttoned jacket, which he teams with my black pants and he looks gorgeous in them, of course. I could be a little biased, naturally.

Rachel has a new kitten, and I want to go and see it, but Sam says we don’t have time. “I have a job interview, hello.”
We head back to my place. It is hot. It is suddenly summer, you can feel it, you can taste it in the air.
Sam goes for a his interview. And my cute, sexy smart boyfriend gets the job.

Shane says he is out for dinner and disappears not long after he got home. I’m glad as well as feeling a tinge of guilt, about feeling such thoughts.

Sam and I headed out into the garden to deposit the rat-baits on the roof. Then I got into chopping down the creeper, away from the box gutters. Sam stood out in the lane and picked up all the bits I dropped over the edge. He was a good little worker to have helping me.
He reminded me that he helped me last year, when I questioned him about knowing what to do.
Oh yes, you have been around for a while, I guess. Ha ha, he he.

Sam and I eat soup for dinner, our chicken and my vegetable, from a number of weeks ago, mixed. Sam doesn’t seem to think that soup can last much more than a month in the freezer. I guess, I don’t know really, but I’m sure it can last longer than that.
We got to bed and watch Mad Max until Sam declares it to be “absolute rubbish” and he turns it around to Graham Norton. I didn’t bother telling him that I’d already seen it, I was just happy that it was a program he was happy about.