|
GCIMY
"Where the hell is my toothbrush... oh my God..."
Okay, it may have been a shock, but she also hammed it up just a little bit.
I had been, until the Grand Inquisitor came in looking for her toothbrush again, strutting to Dire Straits in my underwear, not really thinking of much past my ultra-cool self, making movies. Always the case, isn't it? Thankfully I wasn't singing along, just lip-syncing, I believe.
And she was standing in the doorway, in not much more than a large button-down shirt of hers (she bought one for herself after finding I really didn't have enough of them for her to be borrowing all that frequently), which, despite my own possibly embarrassing position, I noticed hiked up interestingly high when she put her hand to her mouth.
I am not, as may be apparent from previous testimony, the most graceful creature. In fact, the Vonnegut line about being beautiful in water always comes to mind when I think of how I might look to observers while I'm dancing or running or involved in virtually any land-based activity, in that I'd probably feel a lot more beautiful with a few metres of water, muddy, preferably, between myself and their eyes. So my dancing, especially in a position in which I'm not holding on to her closely (partly so she can't get a better look at who she's dancing with, and what he's doing to his poor body), is generally for no eyes only. But, and herein lies the rub, there are just certain songs that make me feel like I've transcended all bodily worries, and I can get on with whatever I might imagine the music video to be accompanied by.
As with singing in the shower, this is a solitary activity, and should prying eyes (or ears, though eyes are just as damning in the case of the shower singer) be discovered, whether because they're laughing in the doorway, or sneezing over the side of a knoll, the moment is gone, and all you have left are embarrassed little children, red faced because the magic they'd seen isn't there any longer. It's a good album, it is, though I try to control myself when I listen to it now.
Come to think of it, I would have preferred Dire Straits to announce the close of our relationship. It would have been infinitely better suited to end the relationship. Very cool, laid back, sort of sexy way to end it. I mightn't have minded then.
She grinned one more time at the rock star standing in his boxers in the bedroom, by some stretch of the imagination playing air guitar, and disappeared back into the bathroom. I followed. I figured I better keep her close by so she couldn't get a good look.
disclaimer:
Well, here 'tis, at long last, damn those NaNoWriMo and
various other attempts to churn out a novel in the course of a month, God Coffee, I Miss You, excerpted above (in case you missed that bit, or just hadn't guessed), is close to done, and we've got people chasing down publishers for it at the moment.
Oh sure, it's, ehm, seven, seven or so years late, sure, it's taken me, at times, well away from Sane Magazine and all the other things I've been promising to deliver, sure it's probably changed a bit from the original short story (shortly coming to a collection of short fiction by myself available from Q.I. Productions in eBook form, watch this space), sure. Sure. Right. So what's my point?
Not sure, entirely, but it's almost done, in the final stages of editing, like, and here we go.
Maybe next time I'll give a go at the novel in a month. Or skip it, altogether.
|
Yer Weekly Horoscopes. This is it, now.