This morning I happened upon my Google history from last night:
How many calories in sleeve saltine crackers?
How many calories in saltines with chedder [sic] butter?
Harry Dean Stanton Straight Story
David Lynch quote ‘sit back and enjoy the mystery’
Pablo Escobar Narcos actor
So we were upstairs folding laundry when the trouble started.
Foodie: What is that?
Foodie: THAT SHIRT. It’s camouflage.
Beast: Oh that shirt. Listen, before you get mad, let me explain.
My mom hadn’t had a solid meal in three days so on a Monday I took her to The Little Beaver, a restaurant beside a gas station in the rural town of Komoka, Ont.
I’d read about the forty-year-old diner and bakery in a London magazine while we waited to speak to someone at St. Peter’s cemetery about burying Russ, my mom’s partner of 20 years.
Russ had passed away three days earlier.
If I ever write a fictionalized account of my time not working I’ve already got two potential titles: Domestic Economy (which I think speaks for itself) or I Wake Up Flexing. I’ve also got the title to the sequel. It’ll be called I’ll Stop Flexing When I’m Dead. The plots are a little vague, but they all involve a protagonist who is a stay-at-home dad without any kids and who wants to have a body builder’s body but even with all the free time in the world he can’t get into healthy eating.
They call it fiction for a reason, because this summer is all about healthy eating, Beast Style.
We’d just been laughing about the Beast’oun deck shoes: how absurd it was that they were the only footwear he’d brought to the cottage. I’d warned him to be careful while walking in the woods, over rocks and along slippery leaves. We were headed downhill back to the canoe, tied up to a tree branch and resting in the lake. While I steadied myself, I saw the Beast with his arms in the air like he just didn’t care, sliding down the escarpment on his butt.
In the sunroom, sipping on the first Aperol spritzes of spring.
Beast: How much money would it take for you to agree to murder someone?
Beast: The thing is, you don’t have to murder them yourself, you just have to pick somebody. And you’ll never be caught.
Foodie: I don’t know. Like, a $150 million?
Beast: I’d charge $1,800.