yarn + waffles = good times
Mason: "I really want to knit this [secret sweater for my wife] at home."
Me: "You could always tell her it's for me."
Mason: "Yeah, that might…wait."
Me: "Hee! Sorry. That wasn't very nice."
The Very Odd Situation between me & Mason (i.e. the one with his wife that fears my intentions, while my conduct has been blameless) developed a new wrinkle last night when I continued to attend the Lettuce Knit stitch n' bitch with him, despite the resumption of the school year. I always quit my weekday commitments when summer ends because I know myself too well to trust myself to leave at an appropriate hour when there's socializin'. (And delicious suppers, and ice cream with waffles and, well, beer.) This is why I never-never-never go to the Dance Cave during the school year, because who wants an English teacher who assigns silent reading for the period while she falls asleep on the desk? Well, maybe more of you than I credit, but my bosses don't want that and I don't want the bank to take my house for non-payment.
But I went out last night. Because I figure that if Mason's proven resolve to leave at 8 p.m. and thus make his wife happy can be extended to me, I can keep going out. Plus, my parents sweetened the deal immeasurably by offering to take Blake for the night on Wednesdays. So after work I'll do yoga for an hour & find the inner peace I so lack, and then blow off that inner peace with burritos, ice cream, waffles & beer, and then go home and go to bed without having to read anyone stories. I am so lucky.
This has been an excellent school opening. The only thing I can compare it to was the year I came back very pregnant, and thus completely untouched by the usual anxiety. There's also the positive influence of my Back To School footwear, pictured below:
For two days I walked through the school a goddess in my own mind. Wearing these boots makes it easy to pretend that I have a scooter and a stylish European boyfriend. And that once this day is over, I will continue our motorcycle tour of Southern Europe. These boots don't really help me with the grasping of the reality, no.
But in case I need a quick dose of the stuff, this is what Blake's Back To School outfit looks like:
I had no idea how filthy a dress shirt could get in 8 hours spent on a wee student's back. It appears the reality will just keep on going, despite my pretensions to fantasy.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*