Monthly Archives: April, 2008
Engaging
The message box flashes on my screen. It is a message from one of my readers. I smile. “I was wondering whether MindReader was going to pop the question – when you’re well?” it says. “I don’t know about that…” I type back, flattered at the interest in my life. I wander out of the …
Because I have a fat lip
“Hello,” ReflexologyLady says, answering the door. “Hi,” I say, stepping in and setting my bag down. “What happened to your face?” she says. I close my eyes briefly. I am not going to lie. Now, MindReader had said, his hands on my shoulders, what do you say when she says ‘can you feel that?’ I …
I am now paying for this
“How do you feel?” MindReader’s arms wrap around my waist, his voice a whisper at my ear. We are at a spa day; a birthday present so belated that we decided to just go. Sometimes, I am realising, I have to sacrifice my glands for a bit of sanity. We have drifted from room to …
Reflexology part II
“Hello,” I say to MindReader. He is sitting on the sofa, feet propped up on the table, a glass bottle of coke in his hand. It is nice to come home to him. “Hey,” he says. “Was reflexology good? Are you glad you sprayed your feet with perfume?” I smile and slide down next to …
On reflexology
I step out of the car, and I try to make the most of every second. The air is full of moisture, rain and sleet and snow, yet it smells like spring: of grass and honeysuckle and fertile soil. The sky is neither dark nor light; a quilt of raincloud letting in the bright, evening …
Because I have only ever held back from writing the truth, and only ever regretted it
“I just don’t think I can have these fights anymore,” I say to MindReader, knowing what he might be thinking. The ones you cause? The ones that come from nowhere? “I’m sick of it,” I say, and even now, I know it is the glandular fever talking. Or rather, that it is the glandular fever …
A regular Thursday night conversation
MadFather is, I suspect, slightly pissed. Since I only drink echinacea tea and orange juice, the bottle of wine and MadFather are left to their own devices. The Heaviest Man In The World (my antithesis, if you will) is on the television. It really is disgusting. He is dancing, sat down, his man boobs jiggling. …
News part II
“It’s nice.” I say to MindReader, his face shadowed by candlelight. “I know,” he says, smiling. “We’ll be in Birmingham.” “You, me and Rainman?” I say, referring of course to our future cat, a name born out of a hilarious Easter Saturday watching Rainman behave autistically on the television as I colour coded my smarties …
