I got home after work on Friday to find the Beast reading in the sunroom.
Foodie: What did you do to your hair? Where is it?
Beast: I got it cut. I asked for a classic ‘page boy’, what do you think?
Foodie: No! What about your curls?
Beast: I’m just kidding. I had to put it in a pony to make the bolognese.
Foodie: Oh thank god!
I used to hate the Beast’s long hair. Now, I can’t imagine him without those sun-kissed locks cascading down his neck, especially after a photographer recently captured them so profoundly at an event I hosted just before Christmas.
There was also a lovely photo of the two of us:
Which the Beast used for his screensaver.
I told the Beast that he should use one these images for his author photo. In October, after we got back from Greece, he got to work on a novel. He finished the first draft last week. I am so incredibly proud of him. Working on it structured his days for months. But now that it’s done, he’s fallen into an aimless slump. The hard stuff, finding an agent, reaching out to people, is next. The Beast is talented at many things, but socializing on his own accord is not one of them.
So the other day before I left for work, I left him a note with a list of chores, thinking it might help him structure his day.
I got a text message before lunch:
The Beast still feels very confident in the kitchen, which smelled like ragu heaven.
Foodie: What recipe did you use for the bolognese?
Beast: The Silver Spoon’s. I doubled it so I can make lasagne on Saturday.
Foodie: What a fantastic idea. I think I’ll make the lasagne.
Beast: No, you won’t. I am making the lasagne.
Foodie: I’d really like to do it, okay?
Beast: It’s my kitchen now, so no.
Then he started playing Pet Shop Boys in the kitchen while he boiled the pasta. I got into my pyjamas–my J. Peterman Marie Antoinette night shirt, to be precise–and tried on my new silk robe. I sat in the sunroom with a glass of wine and read the latest issue of Architectural Digest. I felt so fabulous that I asked if the Beast would take my picture.
Beast: There, I took like 10 photos. There’s got to be one that you’ll like.
[This is the best one.]
Beast: I can’t believe how soft your robe is. Am I allowed to wear it? It would be the ultimate fuck boi attire.
Foodie: Excuse me?
Beast: I’m giving up on all my creative dreams. I am going to be a fuck boi now.
Foodie: What is a fuck boi?
Beast: I have no idea, but doesn’t it sound glamorous?
The Beast has been threatening to “become a fuck boi” ever since I started planning our next big trip to Utah to see Zion and Bryce National Park for his birthday in May. He actually googled “ultimate Bryce Canyon fuck boi”.
When I asked how exactly an “ultimate Bryce Canyon fuck boi” would dress, he told me to wait and see.
Foodie: What are we going to watch tonight?
Beast: I don’t care. I’ve given up. You choose.
Foodie: Stop with that talk! There must be something you want to watch.
Beast: Extreme Animal Attacks.
Beast: PBS News Hour.
Foodie: It’s half-way over. And it’s Friday night. I am not watching news right now.
Beast: Want to carry on with our David Fincher film festival?
Foodie: Great idea. How about Alien 3?
Beast: Not tonight. What about The Social Network?
Foodie: I feel like we just watched that.
Beast: Benjamin Button?
Foodie: OMG I hated that movie when it first came out!
Beast: Me too.
Foodie: Great idea!
The Beast plated beautiful bowls of his pasta, we opened up this bottle of Chianti, which did not disappoint, and dialled up the film.
Foodie: This bolognese is so good!
Beast: It’s not oily enough.
Foodie: What are you talking about? It’s delicious!
Beast: No it’s not. I’ve had better.
Foodie: When and where?
Beast: Italy. Some place in Italy. Did you know that Brad and Angelina’s divorce documents were leaked and apparently Brad insisted that he had to be dressed up like Benjamin Button while they had sex?
The most curious thing about Benjamin Button is that I completely forgot Taraji P. Henson and Mahershala Ali play Brad Pitt’s adoptive parents. Other observations include: the movie is better than we both remembered, it is really long, and 2008 Brad Pitt is beautiful.
This morning, I found this screen shot saved on my phone.
I asked the Beast what he was looking up. He said he was worried that he has a one-day version of Benjamin Button disease. Every morning he wakes up phlegmy, wanting to do nothing other than listen to old blues and jazz records and bemoaning the state of the world. By the end of most days, he wants to listen to Depeche Mode and New Order and become either an Instagram influencer or the world’s most expensive fuck boi.
Beast: Or maybe I’ll become an app developer.
Foodie: What would your app be?
Beast: It would use cutting-edge hairline recognition technology to let you know exactly what Benjamin Button you are. This is what the algorithm said I was.
Foodie: What algorithm?
Beast: It is called Google Image Search. Fuck bois use it all the time.
I hope we get to Utah in May. I think a week surrounded by 50-million-year-old rocks, underneath far older starry skies, without, I hope, cell reception, would do us both a world of good.
Plus, I really want to see what an “ultimate Bryce Canyon fuck boi” looks like.