On Saturday we took my mom to the Keg in London, Ont., for her birthday dinner. It’s not often that we’re all–me, the Beast, mom, her partner Russ, my brother, sister in law, and my nephew, who is three and a half, out together.
The very kind server brought her a piece of that Billy Miner pie.
I had one bite and then excused myself to the washroom, which Ben, my nephew, did repeatedly through the course of our meal. I think nearly everyone took him. He kept telling us he had to go poo but I don’t think he really needed to take one.
I’m sitting on the deck trying to murder wasps with the hose.
It’s on the “jet” setting and I want to take them all down.
I’ve been doing this frequently, while the Beast watches, concerned. He’s of the “leave them alone, and they will ignore you” school, which sounds like a school for people who share Deepak Chopra quotes on Facebook. It just doesn’t make any sense.
Driving west on the 401 to London, Ont., to see my mom on Saturday morning:
Beast: That’s a nice Lincoln you just passed. You know, if I drove a Lincoln I wouldn’t stop doing Matthew McConaughey impressions the whole time.
Foodie: It’s probably for the best that we drive a VW.
Beast: Whoa! Did you see that?
Foodie: What? Where?
Driving to the cottage on Friday night:
Beast: Hypothetical question: If you could be a little waterfall, a big waterfall, a stream or a babbling brook, what would you be?
Beast: Take your time on this one. I really want you to think about it.
Foodie: We are going to eat like kings this weekend! I think we’ll do up the sausages tonight and then have the macaroni and cheese tomorrow night. You should see the wine I got. I don’t even care that it’s supposed to rain all weekend.
Beast: Have you thought about it?
Foodie: Yes. I’d be a stream so that I was always moving and discovering new things.
Beast: Interesting choice. I’d choose the big waterfall because then I’d be huge.
Sipping something approximating a Manhattan the other night, but with cardamom bitters and star anise, for cocktail hour:
Foodie: What’s that playing?
Beast: Kanye’s new album. A lot of people are shitting on it but it’s great.
Last Tuesday was a long one. I was up at 5:00 a.m. putting the finishing touches on my Metro column, I co-hosted the show, which means 9:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. is a bit of a blur, then I was lucky enough to conduct a 45-minute-long Q&A with Michael Bonacini in front of some 800 people at the Carlu, and from there, I went straight to the Canadian Screen Awards.
I wore the same dress all day. I don’t know if it was the material or my nerves–or perhaps a combination of both–but my pits wouldn’t stop perspiring. I was shoving tissue under them all day, like I used to do in Grade 8 when this problem first presented itself. There was a moment, when I was seated between my two bosses at the CSA dinner, that I could smell myself. It made me so anxious that I started to sweat even more.
When I got home I found the Beast on the couch and an empty Pizza Hut box on the coffee table. He gave me a hug and then said, “Wow!”
Upstairs, in the bedroom, after work:
Beast: You know what I was thinking about today?
Foodie: What’s that?
Beast: How we’ll never have gender equality as long as it’s impossible for men to feel comfortable wearing long, chunky sweaters synched at the waist by a nice belt.