David asks. “Hmmmm?” “The octopus sex. How long has it been going on?” “Cupping. It was cupping. There was no octopus involved.” “Are you sure? Evidence suggests otherwise.” “It was cupping.” “Cupping…?” “Suction cupping. At the massage appointment.” “She put suction cups on you.” He is appalled by this explanation. “May I remind you of…
“I hate this game more than anything in the world,” says Rissa as we finish. My heart sinks. I’ve had such hopes. She’s an avid reader now – she knows so many words. I only tried to guide her word choices a… uh… few… (okay 6) times. She wanted to put down kinesis, but would…
“GAAAAAAAHHHH!!! HOLY MOTHER OF…!!!” I flap the dish towel in my panic. “What? What is it?” Rissa asks. “Treacherous insect!!” “What!?!” “Okay, so you know how when you said that there was a cobra in the kitty litter?” “I didn’t say there was a cobra in the kitty litter,” Rissa says, peeking around the corner…
It’s a good morning. I manage to wake up without whining about it. David makes me delicious scrambled eggs. I get dressed and throw a little makeup on, you know, just in case the really hot physiotherapist is at the clinic. I even volunteer to move the cars around so that I can make it…
“We need to kill all the cats.” “Huh?” I am lying on my side in bed, eyebrows so low that I can feel them on my upper lip. “WE. NEED. TO. KILL. ALL. THE. CATS.“ “You don’t mean that. You love the cats.” “4:45!“ “Hmmm?” “4 FUCKING 45 this morning Minuit with her fishy kibble…
In a parallel-dimension I must be Betazoid. Holy fuck – my empathetic core is in hyper-drive tonight. David’s Dad died unexpectedly this past summer. On our 17th wedding anniversary, as we made our way into Manhattan to make some dreams come true, we got a text from his brother telling us that his Dad, John,…
WARNING: THERE IS BAD LANGUAGE IN THIS POST “Shit-Piss-Fuck-Mother-FUCKER!!” “What? What is it?” David asks, his interest now piqued. “This fucking touchpad!” “Okay, steady on there, my love.” “You fucking steady on – JUST LET ME FUCKING HIGHLIGHT THE FUCKING SENTENCE!!!“ “O…KAY… It’s time to take your hand off the touchpad.” “I HATE IT. I…
“So I tried tea the other day,” says Rissa. “Really? How was it?” asks David. “Bad.” “How so?” “Well it held promise – it was cherry something berry something and it smelled delicious, but then it was all BLAH…” Reading a book, I’m fairly distracticated and don’t hear David’s response. “See she didn’t even hear…
Every January it’s the same. After a holiday season filled with my mother’s impossible-to-resist butter tarts, whipped shortbread and banana-cherry slice; after the boxes of Turtles, bars of Toblerone and Chicago Mix popcorn – I’m basically fucked. How is it that I make it through the first part of December relatively unscathed, only to then…
In 1983 I thought David Bowie was Elton John. Modern Love had just hit the airwaves with its pop-happy sound. I glommed onto its vibe as something dancy and fun and cluelessly mistook his voice for the Rocket Man’s. At 15, I wasn’t familiar enough with Bowie’s work to make the distinction. I do know…