Yesterday was a ground zero sort of day, full of horrified realizations and self flagellation.
A pity party for one, if you will.
I spent the day at work with hours of my favorite painfully inspirational podcast, Terrible, Thanks for Asking on blast. If you haven’t listened to it, I beg you to give it a chance. Nora and Co. are amazing. ♥
My dear Anthony called from the airport and told me he was on his way. The Dumpling was safe and sound at a birthday party. I had the opportunity to get dressed up and go play…
With absolutely no desire to do anything that didn’t involve staying home in my pajamas.
So I put my favorite yoga pants and a t-shirt on, tucked my hair into a bun on my head with some pencils … and started scalding and peeling tomatoes. Anthony walked up the driveway in a suit and laughed when he saw me.
A- Damn it. Get dressed.
J- I am dressed.
A- Alright, if lazy soccer mom is the look you’re after, let’s go.
J- Nope. Get your PJ’s on and come help me. I’m not going anywhere. The Dumpling has never made it through a slumber party and I’m expecting her any minute.
He went to change and I got the call that my tiny girl was ready to come home. I raced to get her and came back to him attempting to make dinner.
J- You’re cute, get out of the way.
A- Wanna talk about what happened?
J- No, I don’t.
A- Cool. How many more months are you going to torture yourself?
J- Not today, please.
We grilled salmon with far too much garlic, baked a wild rice pilaf, sliced a rainbow of tomatoes into an heirloom caprese and shared a bowl of vanilla bean ice cream for dessert. He made me laugh until I cried over comfort food on a shitstorm kind of day. I tied my apron back on and he insisted on wearing one, too, so elbow to elbow in matching cherry aprons, we canned tomatoes into the wee hours.
Not the night out he had in mind, but I’ve never had more fun canning in my life and he’s planning on ripping out his lawn for a garden next spring. Anthony’s researching the different sizes and types of canners available, while I pack him a box of jarred goodies. Spicy pickles, crushed tomatoes and salsa with a giant pot of marinara simmering on the stove this morning, headed for the canner next.
This is more my speed. I don’t have any desire to go out and be social these days and I am knee deep in vegetables since my garden frosted yesterday.
I wish I hadn’t agreed to a stupid date tonight and I was rehearsing my cancelation speech when Anthony heard me.
A- Oh HELL no you don’t. You’re going if I have to chaperone to keep you there. At this point, a bad date is better than languishing in those hideous pants you have on.
J- I have an immense amount of wood to move today… in the howling wind. I have no desire to be a girl later and feign interest. It’s a stupid waste of time.
Hell of a great attitude to approach a first date with.
A- I’ll help you do wood. Let’s go.
I haven’t laughed so hard in my life. I am all about equality and avoiding stereotypes… but dear God in heaven… until you’ve seen a flamboyant, pampered gay man try to carry and stack a bunch of wet birch firewood, you have not lived.
A- Dear GOD ya pilgrim, this is ridiculous. Do you really like roasting marshmallows THIS much. Why? Why does anyone burn wood for heat? OMG the WIND! AAAAAAACK a MOTHERFUCKING SPIDER! JESUS! SNOW? IS that a DAMNED SSSNOWFLAKE????
I was doubled over, laughing and threatening to pee my pants when a branch hit him and he stomped back inside. I kept stacking logs into the wagon as he flipped me off from the kitchen window, clutching a cup of steaming coffee and my cozy kitten.
I slipped my headphones in and turned my favorite podcast back on. Misery may love company but we weren’t going to get anything done with him helping. Four trips and I abandoned the wretched job and found him making slime with the Dumpling.
A- I just sent you a text. I found the man for you.
My wonderful gay boyfriend, saving the day in every way he can figure out how.
As long as firewood and insects aren’t involved…