“You’re as stupid as a buffalo,” my angel informed me an hour ago.
“I just fucken burnt myself on the fucking Weber,” I replied. “This is not a good time.”
“Look at the fucks I have to give,” she said. “Last night was yellow bin night. You put out the green bin. Now you need to go and get it because it is too heavy for me.”
“You need to lift heavier,” I explained. “I keep telling you that. You can’t just stand at the squat rack and swear at it for existing.”
“You do. Just like you often stand in the middle of the room, like a buffalo, and ask the air ‘What was I just doing?'”
“Well, the air always tell me, through you, because you know all things.”
“You’re home too much these days,” she sighed.
“It’s the Plague,” I replied. “I’m home for the good of the people.”
“I’m people too, fucker. You could maybe go throw rocks in the river more often. The neighbours are quiet when you do that and you’re not in the house.”
I love her so much.
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