I don’t have to look for a job though.
Sure, I have to finish the two walls in the front bedroom, but that can be done at any time, on the weekends. I want the water leak fixed first.
The plumber didn’t call.
I called the other plumbers and tried to make a time for them to come out. He said he would give the message to the woman in the office and she will call with the time. By the end of the day she still hadn’t called. What is it with fucking plumbers?
Sam called to ask if I wanted to have dinner with him. I said I had left over curry to eat, from Sunday night. I hadn’t quite finished cleaning up my bedroom and I wanted to surprise him. I hadn’t taken the clothes to The Brotherhood last night either as I intended. Well, it is rubbish night tonight and I figured I’d get it all cleaned up at the same time. If I’d known he was going to come over I would have, of course.
Anthony called and asked if I had bought Sam flowers?
“What?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh… yes… that’s why he wanted to have dinner. Well, what put it into his head anyway? I told him I had leftover curry.”
Anthony Laughed.
“I guess that’s why I didn’t hear back from him.”
Anthony laughed again. “You wouldn’t hear from me… again.”
I felt bad, even though I knew Sam wasn’t the type to take Valentine’s Day seriously, but he does like coming over during the week sometimes. The hype would have made him think about it. I text him as soon as I got off the phone to Anthony and asked him what he wanted for dinner?
He said he was coming over after work. There was a “no questions asked” kind of tone to it.
I worked on Mark’s photos all day. I stopped at 3pm deciding I could clean all the crap out of my room at least for when Sam got here. You know, make some effort to make it look as good as it could, even if I just moved it out of my room, put it in supermarket bags and hid it under the stairs. Of course, move it out, give it some spin, visual spin, that’s the spirit, be human sometimes… as pointless and stupid as it might be, it seems to make people happy.
I put my old bike out the front on the footpath. I’m sure it is an anti council reaction to Yarra Council getting rid of hard rubbish collections.
At 4.30, I went to do more pointing. It was warm and sunny and nice to be outside. I made up several pots of mortar. The final one I made too wet so I attempted to add more dry mortar mix, but when I tipped the bag over to pour the powder into the wet mix a huge boulder of it fell out and got wet, so I had to add more water and ended up with a huge amount of mortar mixed up, more than I had ever mixed up previously.
Sam arrived some time after 6pm and I was still doing the pointing. He took over, like he does, always seems to like to, computers, cooking, pointing and he pointed a couple of places in the front fence, to get rid of the excess mortar, in his business shirt and pants. He looked like the best dress, and cutest, “brickie” in town.
I was sweaty and hot and had to have a shower. We sat on the couch saying we were both hungry trying to work out if the other really wanted to go out for dinner for Valentine’s Day, or if each of us was happy not to participate in the marketing exercise?
“I can cook my tuna and tomato pasta, if you want?”
“Sure.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out for dinner?”
“Why, do you?”
It’s funny when you are both hedging around something to get your way, or what you want, but this was a kind of negative hedge, as neither of us really did care about the consumerism of Valentine’s Day.
I just had to go to the supermarket to get pasta. We’ve had an outbreak of moths in our pantry and Shane cleaned it out on Monday night throwing out the pasta I am sure I had. However with my quick glance into the pantry, I noticed a bag of bran and a bag of oats, which he left, both of which were infested with weevils. So, I can only conclude Shane threw away all the items which didn’t attract weevils and left all the items which did.
Shane came home in the middle of it announcing he was going to, what I like to call, slut yoga, holding up his red jock strap that he was going to wear, which needed a thread cut off it, or a strap removed, or something.
I headed to the shower, much, as it turned out, to Shane’s anxiety.
“Oh… um… how long are you going to be, I need to have a shower?”
“You are going to have a shower before yoga?”
“I feel hot and sweaty.”
Slut yoga, I swear, is more about boyfriend hunting that exercise. I haven’t asked, but I reckon Shane’s regular attendance at slut yoga probably has something about an attendee he has his eye on that the health gains it is giving… hence the shave, shower and shit and I’m sure, if he was actually the kind, which he isn’t, there would have been aftershave applied.
Sam and I walked to the supermarket and before we got there, of course, Sam had changed my pasta significantly. We only needed pasta, but we were now getting chorizo sausage, olives, spinach and pasta and I was to cook according to Sam’s recipe and not mine. I mock protested, but quietly I’m just as happy for him to take over if he wants. I am capable of doing it myself and I am equally capable of letting him.
The moths are still circling. “Ahhh!!!” The spray doesn’t even seem to kill them, they just seem to fly right through it.
The dinner was scrumptious, quite lovely, even if Sam turned the sauce off and mixed it with the pasta before the spinach had been wilted into the sauce, as it should have been. I’m sure a recipe Nazi and Sam is so “let it loose,” which, strangely, is quite opposite to how we usually operate.
Sam bought two of those fresh coconut packaged thingies from the supermarket to drink with out dinner, that look like igloos, or beige marble blocks, or art deco purses, or… but, he had trouble opening them, the outer layer was pretty tough. He was in the kitchen hacking into them with more and more determination, while I assembled the pasta and retreated to the lounge to watch him hacking away furiously, like a madman possessed, with more and more coconut shards flying through the air... like Edward Scissorhands.
Once the coconut juice was in the tall glasses and I stopped being scared of him, we watched the Hangover, which I kind of like, strangely enough. You know, I only ever gravitate towards art house movies, which I’m sure is a form a stupid snobbery, but where I picked that up from, I don’t know.
We still went to bed before 10pm, as is Nana Sam’s want on a school night, but he did allow us to see the end of the movie before he ordered everything turned off and shut down and sleep.
Goodnight. Shhh.
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