Category Archives: At Home

A Barberian’s birthday

The Beast didn’t get home until 10:00 p.m last night because he worked late. So I came home to an empty house. At first, I thought I could wait to eat dinner with him. But by 8:00 p.m., I gave up.

It was our Friday night pizza party. While I prepared my toppings and waited for the oven to heat up, I decided to watch some TV on my computer in the kitchen. For no explicable reason, I settled on the last episode of the last season of Six Feet Under, a series I’ve already seen but have never revisited.

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How to diet by eating an entire pizza

The Beast and I got home at exactly the same time on Friday after work. He was carrying an LCBO bag filled with cocktail necessities and was eager to get down to business. I was eager to get into my caftan and drink whatever he was about to create.

Although there have been sunny days in 2015, something about Friday felt like it was the first of the season. We didn’t want to miss a moment of it. By 5:30 p.m., we were sitting on the deck with reading materials and drinks. The Beast was reading a 650-page biography about Saul Bellow for an upcoming book review he’s writing. I was reading Twitter.

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Piano man makes bean salads

Foodie: Last night I dreamt that I bought a condo.

Beast: Last night I dreamt I was a Ralph Lauren model.

Foodie: And it was really, really big. Like, it had two levels.

Beast: And I got paid in clothes.

Foodie: Did I tell you what I saw yesterday looking out into the backyard from the sunroom?

Beast: Not yet.

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Five hours until dinner: The Valentine’s Day edition

Foodie: What are we going to have for dinner, man? It’s Valentine’s Day!

Beast: You said we were going to have a taco salad party.

Foodie: I did?

Beast: [Silence]

Foodie: That’s actually a really good idea.

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Put an egg on it. Plus, faking it.

This morning, in the kitchen:

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Beast: We need to get rid of our sugar bowl.

Foodie: No we don’t.

Beast: Yes we do. And that little plate it sits on too.

Foodie: No we don’t. I love them both so much.

Beast: They look like they belong in a fucking dump: like they belong to a character in a Miranda July novel.

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Pyjama-gate, club sandwiches and giving up

Foodie: Do you want to see the photos I took of you asleep last night on the couch?

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Beast: I look like a character from a Wachowski brothers’ movie.

Foodie: Huh?

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On death, Harvey’s, beef and tomato stew, and a pigeon.

Outside of Harvey’s on the Queensway, a favourite resort-like destination for us when we have access to a car, the Beast turned to me and said, “Doesn’t this feel like the kind of slightly rundown place where a business man would come into after a long day at work to order a burger? And in the movie version, he’d be at the wrong place at the wrong time and there’d be some kind of armed robbery?”

Harvey's

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