The generally wonderful M. is getting a tad too comfortable now that he is a suburban white-picket fence homeowner. He’s turning into a veritable Ward Cleaver, but I ain’t his little Beaver.
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While I was still in Boston, he had my car for a couple of days after Christmas. He veritably stole it and whisked it away to be fully detailed. When I returned, the seats were slippery. All of my automotive tzochkes, wires and spare change were put in plastic bags. An ironic (on account of my obsession with our backyard trees) essence of lemon scenting hung in the air.
Tonight, he was back in my car for the first time in a last little while.
Sniff. “Do I smell coffee? Did you spill coffee in here?”
Yes, of course, I had and will likely continue to do so. Having discovered the joy of Mickey Ds drive thru sliding me an ice coffee as I commence my commute, I fully expect there will be more spillage in my future. Not to mention the mountainous curving road that is Sharp Park, the LeMans section of my commute. It’s a drivers’ thrill and a spillers’ hell.
He left the car sniffing my seatbelt and tsking in disgust. I sure hope he doesn’t plan on spanking me.
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Uh. . . if he does spank you, will you blog about it ? . . . . PLEASE ?