Other than that, I spent the day fixing up my place, which I love. I even love my landlord, who's a nice guy but ot-nay oo-tay ight-bray, if you know what I mean. Yesterday he flirted clumsily, saying things like "you must be irish, with pretty red hair like that," but today he sulked a little because repairs on the stove stalled when he brought the wrong size knob. He apologized about a thousand times, because clearly buying the wrong size knob says something about one's manhood, but then he cheered right up when I mentioned trying to find Skipper's Smokehouse in the Yellow Pages. "Oh, do you like smoked food?" he asked, but before I could tell him about the West African band that's playing there tonight, he whisked out of the house, only to return a few minutes later with a wad of tinfoil in his hand. "Mike? In 6? Goes deep sea fishing and here's some smoked mullet!" He was breathless and pleased with himself. How adorable is that? Now I have mullet.
But, yeah, I also have a deep need for solitude, so when he comes back tomorrow I hope I don't find myself telling him what to do with his right size knob.
And yourselves? How's it all going?