Say Goodbye to Fluff

We woke to messages on Sam’s phone that Charlie and Lenny had landed from their eight weeks in Canada and the US. They were on their way home in a taxi. Charlie was keen to come over first thing this morning and pick Fluff up. Did we fancy brunch, or lunch?

We went to brunch with Charlie at Monty’s around 11am. I ate avocado mash, Sam ate field mushrooms, Charlie ate chilli eggs. We drank multiple cups of coffee and a muffin, which we shared.

Charlie paid for the meal, it was the least he could do, he said, as we looked after Fluff for 5 weeks. It is funny that he did that, I guess that is what people do, but it was fun looking after Fluff, I loved every minute of it, it didn’t cost us anything and she supplied hours of enjoyment, no payment was required, and in fact, it almost felt like the opposite, that we should be thanking him for allowing us to look after his dog. That was sudden feeling I had as I saw Charlie at the cash register.

Charlie left Fluff at our house for a little longer while he went and got a new sim card for Lenny, then he came back for Fluff and she stood up on the car doorframe and looked back longingly as they drove away. Maybe, she was thinking, back to my life of privilege? I have to admit to yelling at her a couple of times, when I’d call Buddy, she would always dash over and get in the way, that drove me nuts. But then Charlie admitted that Fluff doesn’t really like Lenny. I’ve seen Lenny carry her on occasions like she is something to be deposited some place, you know, arms out stretched carried away from your body. I used to pick her up and cradle her in my arms on her back and she’d snuggle up.

Charlie did seem a little vague, I wondered if he should be driving all over Melbourne in a jetlagged state, but he said he felt okay. Back to work Monday, however. It is kind of a crash landing, I always feel when you have to go straight back to work I always like a few days, ultimately a week, but, then again, I would, I guess.

Buddy didn’t seem to care that his little, blonde girlfriend had gone. No discernable reaction. “I’m going to my bed.” Sam read his IT news feed. I tried to continue reading The Toucher, by Dorothy Hewitt, but while I found it charming when I read the first half some time ago, now I found the relationship with a 67 year woman in a wheel chair and a 25 year old hunk a little depressing. The break in reading had had a negative impact and I didn’t fancy starting it again, so I decided not to read the rest of it. So I must go to my pile of books to read and select again.

We walked Buddy to The Fitzroy Gardens. It was a lovely day. Once around Fitzroy Gardens and Buddy is done for the rest of the day. “I’m going to my kennel.”

We ate ice creams walking down to the shops on Smith Street, much to Sam’s objections, not long after getting back from the park. Strawberry and chocolate. Sometimes you I have to ignore Sam and open the damn ice creams. That could be a mantra for life, really. Sometimes you just have to forget about what is good for you and live a little.

I did my tattsLotto, no prizes for a second week. I questioned the $100 I’m spending on TattsLotto per week. Why am I doing that? I suddenly felt surprised with myself? Fancy wasting all of that money? Lottie would be aghast! Then I remembered my reasons why, as I used to spend more than that per week on cigarettes and never thought twice about it, and this was my healthier version of smoking, and the cheaper version. One addiction for another, thank you David Gioncallis, who’s swanning around the South of France as I write, being the guru with the most, with his sycophant followers, as I like to call them. He swapped drug addiction for New Age addiction, as you can gather one works much better for him than the other.

I went to find Sam in Coles. We took ages choosing the mayonnaise for our wraps, Sam wanted hot, I didn’t. Then there was whole egg, or not, was that even true in a purchased bottle mayo. (can you believe anything the food label says?) Herb, or garlic? Chipolata? Blah, blah, blah. The choices were endless. We bought black pudding at my suggestion, as Sam wanted to cook a big breakfast tomorrow morning. My mum used to cook it for me as a kid. Sam hadn’t really eaten it much. I like it, funny the things you get a taste for that you have as a kid.

We ate wraps for dinner.

We watched the Last Days of Marilyn Monroe. Was she murdered? They make it sound like she was. But, surely, if there was any real proof, even this many years later, it would have been big news across the world? Surely? We can’t be so present day centric to not care about murder and the truth? Maybe we are?

Mitch put a plastic tray of Mac and Cheese in the oven, which smelt like it was melting in the heat of the oven, but on closer inspection it wasn’t. Mac and Cheese. You know, I don’t think I have never eaten Mac and Cheese. It kind of smelt though, which was kind of intensified by the story we were watching about death, Marilyn’s body face down and all that. Sam laughed when I told him the analogy. I guess it was cremation theory. Sam gave me one of his looks.

The melting plastic like the skin burning and peeling away. The bubbling cheese like the body fat cooking. The macaroni like the bones turning brittle and then soft and then dissolving away with the bubbling body fat and the burning skin. Drip, drip, dripping from the rack it is laying on down into the burning coals. Pfffff! Pfffff! Pfffff!