Another Sunday

No garlic lemon chicken last night. FF had to head out. He is currently in pursuit of a hippie chick from St. Henri. She is a genuine hippie as in she does not own a phone, or have a computer, so if he wants to see her he has to go over to her place and see if she’s home. So he took off mid-afternoon, and I decided to make chicken curry all on my own.

He came home at 6:00, hippie chick was AWOL. According to her low-life friends, she left her place, is staying with a friend somewhere, but isn’t talking to anyone. I asked him why he is wasting time on this strange person, and he said “I’m a weirdo, and she’s a weirdo, but in a good way.” Whatever.

Back to the food: so he ate MY curried chicken and gave it a thumbs up. He liked my cooking? It’s like Freaky Friday. Then we drank some beer, then he asked if he could smoke a joint. I don’t want him smoking in the house and he had completely given it up when he moved in last month. But he said because he had been on vacation in the country where there is nothing to do but fish, hike and get high, he and his pal had bought a bag of pot and he had a little bit left and he wasn’t going to waste it by throwing it out. So I said, go ahead. Then he said, why don’t you smoke it with me? And I said, yeah, okay, because I’m 50 now and I don’t care about anything anymore. So I had a few puffs but I still don’t understand how to inhale.

Then he entirely re-arranged the living room furniture to his liking. I let him. Why not? I think I like the change. Then I washed the dishes and he fell asleep on the newly positioned living room couch. It’s like we’ve been married for 10 years.