Conversation:
"I mean, what kind of person are you if you HAVEN'T done drugs?"
"Right! ...So what does that make me?"
"Well, have you gone out of your way to not take drugs?"
"No."
"That's okay then."
...
"No I totally DID go to a strip club! They took their clothes off and everything!"
Possibly not the kind of earnestly defensive protestation most men make to their wives...
Moving from a flat to a three-storey townhouse takes quite a bit of adjusting. Not least in learning that if you need to talk to your beloved, yelling from the top floor to the kitchen *might* not be the best way to carry on a conversation.
Fortunately, technology is on our side. We have installed a set of cordless phones, which function well as an internal communication device. Beloved was initially dead set on walkie talkies but has accepted these as a compromise. It helps that he'd long since formed the habit of texting me from bed to let me know that he'd woken up and wouldn't mind some attention.*
So every so often the peace of my study is disturbed by a ringing phone, as Beloved requires my urgent attention to matters of great consequence. This afternoon, for instance.
Ring ring.
[Completely absorbed in my very demanding brain work,** it takes me a second to surface, place a mental bookmark and find the receiver.]
"No I'm not cooking yet!" I say.***
"Isn't the rain great?" he says.
"Oh. Yes. It is."
"I just wanted to say that."
It was, though.
Note to Greg: actually, I don't think the magic is because I'm not out in the rain. I get a very similar pleasure from heavy rain even when I am out in it, at least sometimes. Don't you?
_____
* This was back in the flat. Distance from his bed to my desk: oh, maybe 5 or 6 metres?
** Researching pattern support for new yarns. What? Ravelry is totally work!
*** Luckily, there's a different ring to let me know when the call is coming from outside the house, and should be answered more politely.
Must watch video that reminds me to ask why we poor souls in exile STILL haven't seen the evidence of what happened to a certain porcelain bunny? Huh? Huh? YOU know who you are and what you've done.
Conversation:*
"So are you doing anything fun this weekend?"
"Actually, I am. Tomorrow I'm being interviewed for a knitting podcast (fame at last!) and on Monday I'm meeting some blogfriends who are visiting from the US. Wow, putting those together makes for a pretty geeky weekend."
"That makes you practically a Dalek, actually."
"See, now I feel cool again."
_____
* Which took place over email. Does that increase the geek factor or not? I think not. Email is way too commonplace to be geeky.
Which means "crappy week". (Well, it does now.) Nasty lingering cold. Rude customers. Too much work. Internet dramas. Parcelforce. Bitchfight over our tenancy deposit (we're not getting most of it). Eh.
In between all of which I kept thinking fascinating thoughts that I was positively desperate to commit to blog, all of which now escape me. Eh.
Hm. Seriously. There must be something...?
My dad's about to arrive with a couple of trees to stick in the ground for us. Well, that was the idea, but as it's now pissing down I rather think it'll be a couple of trees to leave for us to stick in the ground. Which is fine and all, although I don't have a shovel. (I will shortly have a small garden hand tool set, though. My packaging supplier, always liberal with the free gifts, has suddenly taken to making those free gifts worth having. Last time it was a toolkit. A really rather nice toolkit. It makes me quite suspiciously happy.)
Anyway. We've almost settled into the new house. The Ikea drama had a surprise twist in the tale: the arrival of the online order included those bloody cupboards that we had hysterics over not finding in the store (and then found, and brought home at great personal stress, not to mention certain Streetcar penalties, but never mind that). Beloved thinks it's all my fault, because they're my cupboards. I think it's both our fault, because we did the shopping together and we discussed the online order together, but secretly I think it's a little bit more his fault, because he placed the bloody online order.) So it's Still Not Over. On the other hand, my Art is now hanging decoratively on the walls.
...
Parental visit now passed, the garden is... well. It has some things in the ground. It also has some things not yet in the ground, and an awful lot of ground lying around where it shouldn't be (including on the lounge floor), and general mess galore. Hm.
Better go clean up now.
