On Thursday nights I'm single again. Andrew goes out to play poker and I moon around the flat, talking to myself and picking my nose. Sometimes I watch back-to-back episodes of Buffy. I always think about inviting someone over and then don't, in case they're busy. Last Thursday I did the hoovering. Just after nine o'clock my phone rang, and I skittered giddily into the bedroom to retrieve it, closely followed by the cat, both of us excited by the notion that someone might be calling over on a whim. But it was just the alarm to tell me that the five minutes were up and it was time to scrape the Immac from my chin.
I got in from work a little late yesterday evening. I paused at the door, wondering who Andrew was talking to. He finishes work at lunchtime on a Friday and I spend the last three hours of my working day wondering what he's up to and wishing I was there. I imagine all kinds of exciting things, though I should know better, as he usually pops up in my email chat to ask what I'd like for dinner. "Oh hai, Pussycat!" he said when I came in, looking around the room to see if we'd a visitor. "Don't mind me" Andrew said, looking embarrassed "I was just reading a thirty-year-old book by a dead New York Jew to the cat".
I got in from work a little late yesterday evening. I paused at the door, wondering who Andrew was talking to. He finishes work at lunchtime on a Friday and I spend the last three hours of my working day wondering what he's up to and wishing I was there. I imagine all kinds of exciting things, though I should know better, as he usually pops up in my email chat to ask what I'd like for dinner. "Oh hai, Pussycat!" he said when I came in, looking around the room to see if we'd a visitor. "Don't mind me" Andrew said, looking embarrassed "I was just reading a thirty-year-old book by a dead New York Jew to the cat".
