Hermes

 

My boy Hermes has twice these past few days given me thumbs up. First, well, this is the conversation I had with our old car:

Me: Car, what the fuck?

Car: Beau, what else did you want me to do? I've been rattling and rocking and bits falling off and hardly rolling and STILL you refused to give up on me. I was no longer safe, babe. I needed to do SOMETHING.

Me: You brought moment of inertia to a whole new level! He was going, like, what, ten miles an hour and you fell apart? What of that chassis, man? You're not a 2 million ton ship!

Car: That's what I was telling you. I was falling apart ALREADY. I needed to stage a miniature collision with maximum damage. Now you have a safe new car. Well. New. Not me new.

Yes. The old car was, oddly as it goes, so irreparably damaged from running aground while pulling up the driveway, we needed another. But we drive so incredibly little, what were we going to buy? An old Clio? Fuck that. And then, in the middle of nowhere, in a car sales yard, amidst all those pristine new Fords and Beemers and Citroens ... AN OLD 'BISHIY! And I'm talking ancient, an old Outlander without ANY electrical parts to speak of! (Because I don't like electronically enhanced cars, they freak me out and they would be useless during a nuclear holocaust, because EMP.) Perfect! And shockingly affordable. We peed on it instantly to make it ours. It even rained for three days while we settled the paperwork, to prove how difficult it is to get anywhere on the bike. 

And then G was turned down for that change of workplace they threatened him with. He was so happy. 'That place is my home'. Aww. My poor pumpkin. He can be so sentimental over some things. He was so happy he instantly paid for my Warcraft subscription (longest two days ever!) and we had a quickie and then we went out to have some coffee and I told him all about the crime novel I've been writing to take my mind of Goose. He listened and commented, delighted by my grudge: You are one twisted fuck. I am so in love with you. 

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