I stood barefoot holding a hot steaming iron in my hand, wearing only
a red towel, my wet hair haphazardly clinging to my neck and
shoulders. I kicked the massive pile of clothes, dirty and clean, that
accessorize the floor of my room in hopes that I might unearth some
pair of mostly clean dress pants.
He lay in my bed, wrapped in a cocoon of my blankets. "This whole
domestic thing, it is kind of hot" he said.
Dutifully banishing wrinkles from my pants, I replied "Nothing is hot at 7am".
I dressed myself for work as fast as an America's Next Top Model on
coke, which for the record is very fast and sat myself in front of the
make-up mirror.
"Since when do you wear make-up?"
"Since I woke up looking like crap after two hours of sleep", I retorted.
"You look fine".
"You have to say that, you're in my bed".
"Friends don't let friends drive home during blizzards".
2 comments:
Your blog seems to have taken on a new sort of theme. I can't quite put my finger on it.
I am in a strange state as of late and I don't much like it or the manifestations like these which it produces.
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