So this glorious boxing day morning, bereft of sleep from having watched one too many DVDs chez Marc's, still a little stoned, still belly-sore from laughing...
...I ventured out, with my mom, for the first time ever, to conquer boxing day.
So the verdict still stands, I hate shopping. Didn't find anything that I could justify buying for David, kept passing candles and incense braziers thinking "Oooh, Maria would love this but she'll kill me so I'd better not", bought a new winter coat, though all long graceful lines and far too ladylike but I think I just might like the paradox of it.
And that's it. Bought my mom lunch, checked my messages, and just as I was about to invent an excuse to go running home and escape the tension that was building at every snide remark of "how come you never wear skirts? how come you never wear red? what's wrong with you...", I got to the next message:
"Hi, this is "Chez mes Amis", you dropped your number off in case we were in need of volunteers over the holidays...
And I'd forgotten all about it in the spurious celebrations of the last two days, but it worked out so neatly, they were full for Christmas, but needede volunteers for clean-up...
...so I spent the afternoon washing dishes, mopping floors (which funnily enough I never do at home) and picking at their computers.
Y'see, their printer wasn't working and I overheard the beautiful boy with the long hair bitching about how he couldn't figure it out with his hangover, so I offered.
"You know stuff about computers?"
"It's kinda what I do"
"But you're a chick, whoa, cooooool!"
And I updated their drivers and changed the ink drum and fixed the paper feeder that hasn't worked all year with a paper clip and I showed them a few tricks for their software, then washed my hands, hugged everyone goodbye and came home.
I'm dirty and sweaty and not very hungry because I still have the industrial-sized-kitchen smell on me, but I feel kinda good.
And I've been listening to way too much Tragically Hip, missing my little reclusive writer, glowing at the unexpected message he left me last night while I was out doing illicit substances, and carefully picking out guitar riffs.
And I slept in, past the sunrise. Sometimes, it feels good to miss a sunrise.
Because I know it was there anyway...
And now, mes cheres, I am off to whatever whim Marc may have fabricated for us this eve.