We woke up to winter today as the usual sandwich made of L&B&B (much to the relief of the whole collective, for whom it is none of their business), to a world of white-frosted everything. My car went away on Monday, as I held out to the very last second with it's riduclous summer tires and lowerable (or maybe that's raisable) wing. It isn't a winter car so it will be stored offsite. I don't think the R8 is either but Caleb persists with it to keep up his Christian Grey vibe or whatever.
It is a hot car. If I could have sex with a car, well, wait a minute, it would be a bright-green Dodge Super Bee with a 440 six pack.
I'm not dumb.
They raised me better than my stories would have you believe, actually and finicky American muscle somehow will always trump reliable German engineering for the cool factor, in the same way FrankenBen trumps everyone else with the sheer expanse of morning wood he wakes up with.
It was not frosted over from the cold. No, it's probably the warmest part of Ben, if I recall, except I don't have to recall, he reminds me right away. Tout de suite. Post haste. He's still mad at me for waking up in PJ's bed, though that's not exactly my fault so it's semi-hate sex which is sadly my favorite kind.
Then he's gone to shower and find Duncan for a meeting and then he's actually going to finish working for the year. His work is akin to self-directed grade school in that they give him a final timeline and he can either do it regularly or wait and get it all done at the end. He waits. He wasn't a good student in school but really none of us were, I don't think, except for Caleb who got good grades to get into law school, and Christian, who's a word nerd like me but he's different because he cares for grammar and doesn't get lost in these crazy run-on sentences like I always seem to because it was always easier for me to write instead of talk.
I was a dreamer in school, which makes sense because I'm a dreamer in life. Instead of focusing on chores I'm looking for the magical worlds past the clothes in the dryer. Instead of paying attention at meetings I'm conjuring stories about the people pouring coffee at the sideboard, or the elevator attendant or maybe the girl I passed walking down the street with her old robin's egg blue wool swing coat on paired with a pretty new pearl-white Dior bag.
Then I realized she was me and I look kind of cute and a little vintage and not very warm in all honesty and probably about to get into trouble because instead of taking this gift back I went and put all my stuff in it and planned a week's worth of outfits around it and decided since it cost around a quarter of what that last bracelet from Tiffany cost I could probably just keep it and soothe the Devil a little bit and everyone's happy.
Well, the Devil is happy because he made a good choice and I didn't take it back and I'm happy because...well, duh. Dior.
But mostly I was happy because I have only three presents left to buy now and then I'm done Christmas shopping. The decorating is coming along. I have my menu plans and wrapping schedule all done and I have set a record in comparison to every other year when I wait too long and then rush around. An old Irish neighbor yelled at me years ago that It's the same feckin' day each year! You know the date! What's the rush?! and she was absolutely right and we've lived by that ever since.