Well. It's November. Not sunny, lovely autumn November either. It's rainy, miserable Vancouver November. I'm fearful for my pretty boots that aren't waterproof. Thanks a lot rain. Though I admire you for keeping things green, I feel that you and I have spent enough time together in the last couple decades. I jumped in a multitude of puddles in the past and ruined plenty of shoes consciously. Though it was fun, please help a sister out and don't wreck my other shoes. I sacrificed footwear for the rain gods, there's photographic evidence. Please, rain, go away.
This post is not about shoes, but I do have beef with the weather. Not beef as in cow, you know what I mean. For some reason, disease thrives in miserable weather and it found me. Came into my house it did. And, as it works out, disease found Boyfriend too. I would like at this point to stand on my soap box and declare that I did not make him sick. We had different kinds of sick, isn't that right Boyfriend? If you want to keep blaming me you'll have to regurgitate your stomach contents unwillingly. When that happens I may apologize, but your cough and cold symptoms have me skeptical that I passed disease onto you. I'm just stating facts.
It's interesting though, how very differently we handle illness. When I was sick, Boyfriend couldn't get far enough away from me. I think he was very close to purchasing me a plastic bubble to contain both myself and my germs. Oh no, that might be me accidentally giving him ideas again. For the record, I will donkey-kick you if it even crosses your mind to get me one of those Boyfriend. He would call through the apartment to ask how things were going. When I first got nastily sick, he hollered from the living room, Are you sick?
Really? Is this question actually coming from your mouth? Our walls are thin, buddy, you and the neighbours both know exactly what's going on, lots and lots of verbing.
I'm really trying quite hard not to be too graphic for your sake here, reader, instead of the word vomiting we shall use verbing. You're welcome. Whenever he braved getting close enough to me, the sweetest move he made was a quick bro-hug and a european air kiss a foot away from my cheek. This does not make a lady feel loved fellas. Makes me feel that I've had radical surgery to my face and Boyfriend doesn't know how to be with me any more, like I've mutated or something. Not romantic in the least. Not that viruses are romantic, but honestly, I wouldn't even mind wearing a face mask if it meant we could be in the same room together. No wonder he hardly gets sick.
Then, when Boyfriend is sick I can't run away from him. Not to say that I would want to run away from him, I would want to fly away from him on a jet plane. Running doesn't get you far enough away. In actuality, I'm very kind when he's not feeling well. I went to the store to get him some juice and neo citron (which he says puts him to sleep, so he only drinks it before bed), I cared to ask if he had any last wishes if he were unfortunate enough not to make it through the night, I got him some of my special tea (the kind I've been rationing because I can't find it anywhere anymore! Sadness!) and, most importantly (get your hands ready to catch your jaw when it drops) I watched a hockey game with him tonight. The whole thing. I got bamboozled by his pitiful feverish face. I even know who was playing. Vancouver and...le crap...Chicago. Chicago? Yes. Took me a second but I remembered. Okay, I may have slept through the first period (be proud I understand that it's not innings or quarters, I know things) and woke up with lock jaw, and second period I was busy playing on my phone, and third period I was doing something I'm quite sure, maybe staring off into space. Possibly solving the mysteries of the universe, le damn if I can recall though. The point is I was there, I heard all of the mumbles of nice goal and such from the bundled up Boyfriend, who, I should also announce was wearing fleece pants. If you're just tuning into my blog you might want to go back a few posts to read about Boyfriend's relationship with shorts, fyi I don't date freaks that spend all their time in their underoos. Anymore. We all make mistakes. What I mean to say is that I care enough to be with Boyfriend when he needs me, even if his needs are just a buddy to watch the hockey match with. I can be a good girlfriend, I'm not all She-Hulk and memory loss all the time.
My cat is making love to a box of office supplies... not sexy love, she's just rubbing up against it. Not rubbing up against the box in a sexy way, but it's making her both happy and satisfied. Not happy and satisfied in the "I need a cigarette, that was great" kind of way. I feel like there's no winning with what I mean to say here.
After the game, Boyfriend asks for some tea. I hear, it's time for neo citron so I can go to sleep. I'm entirely wrong, but who can blame me for what I think I hear? I watched a hockey game, I need some time away from TSN and whatever other sports stuff is on tv. Boyfriend gets his neo citron, and this lady gets her couch back. Everybody wins!
Time for tea,
K
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