There was some failing on my part to properly understand that when someone is invited to your house in the early evening you might reasonably be expected to provide dinner. Anticipating champagne I concocted things using cucumber sliced thickly as a cracker substitute topped with smoked salmon, a slice of cherry tomato and chives. There was another plate with crackers and baba ganoush.
Zissou arrived on time with two bottles of champagne and a bottle of limoncello. I was, of course teased about my lack of dinner but kindly and not for long. I am beginning to like this man. I am harboring a small and hidden affection. Last night he was direct in intent but always kind, never assuming. We drank a bottle of champagne under the stars on the Peach Deck munching morsels and talking widely. Retiring early to the bedroom with wine and water I found myself standing quietly watching him undress me one slow thing at a time.
There is a calmness in his strong hands. He is tall, much taller than me. He is broad and weathered. Stretched out naked you can climb across him like a continent. Each touch feels like the first screech of undercarriage onto the tarmac of some unimagined homeland. It is strange and calm and good.
The Spatula came home just around midnight, walking through my open bedroom door she stopped to say hello then said "I have to go" and took off down the hall. Zissou popped off to the bathroom so I wrapped myself in a pashmina and went to see if she was ok. She was out on the deck so I followed but stopped short when I discovered an unknown man. She introduced him with the wrong name, he corrected her, I retreated. Zissou and I went out to the deck to say hello, I paused to throw on some clothes. Zissou had poured them glasses of limoncello but they were sipping and turning up their noses. We retreated to the bedroom.
In the morning stretching and holding on to the remnants of sleep Zissou informed me that the man had made a naked foray into my bedroom sometime during the night. I was not woken but the man was discovered standing naked at the end of my bed. Zissou had quietly shepherded him out while I slumbered. On a trip to the bathroom in daylight I spotted some odd spots on the carpet in the hall outside the bathroom door. I told Zissou I suspected that the man might have vomited during the night, Zissou frowned and made breakfast plans.
At the cafe, between swallowing a mouthful of coffee and transferring scrambled eggs onto a piece of toast Zissou said "there is something I want to tell you" and launched into a tale most foul. Before showering he discovered the bathroom mat folded in the bathtub, he went to place it on the floor but it was filled with terrible faeces. What a shocking discovery for him to make inside The Peach.
The Spatula suspects it was the cat, I suspect it was the man but in either case I am mortified. What a terrible series of events to intrude on a wonderful evening. Now I am left sitting and pondering. I like Zissou and he says that he likes me. He is moving to Canberra very shortly to take up a position at a winery. I would like to see him again but am unsure of what the next move could be. It seems I am returning to my default setting of self-doubt. What charms could I possibly hold for a man who trails twenty more years than me, a man who feels so immense in character and heart that he has his own national borders.
Just in case I did not make it plain. I do not suspect Zissou of being the phantom crapper, not at all.
Zissou arrived on time with two bottles of champagne and a bottle of limoncello. I was, of course teased about my lack of dinner but kindly and not for long. I am beginning to like this man. I am harboring a small and hidden affection. Last night he was direct in intent but always kind, never assuming. We drank a bottle of champagne under the stars on the Peach Deck munching morsels and talking widely. Retiring early to the bedroom with wine and water I found myself standing quietly watching him undress me one slow thing at a time.
There is a calmness in his strong hands. He is tall, much taller than me. He is broad and weathered. Stretched out naked you can climb across him like a continent. Each touch feels like the first screech of undercarriage onto the tarmac of some unimagined homeland. It is strange and calm and good.
The Spatula came home just around midnight, walking through my open bedroom door she stopped to say hello then said "I have to go" and took off down the hall. Zissou popped off to the bathroom so I wrapped myself in a pashmina and went to see if she was ok. She was out on the deck so I followed but stopped short when I discovered an unknown man. She introduced him with the wrong name, he corrected her, I retreated. Zissou and I went out to the deck to say hello, I paused to throw on some clothes. Zissou had poured them glasses of limoncello but they were sipping and turning up their noses. We retreated to the bedroom.
In the morning stretching and holding on to the remnants of sleep Zissou informed me that the man had made a naked foray into my bedroom sometime during the night. I was not woken but the man was discovered standing naked at the end of my bed. Zissou had quietly shepherded him out while I slumbered. On a trip to the bathroom in daylight I spotted some odd spots on the carpet in the hall outside the bathroom door. I told Zissou I suspected that the man might have vomited during the night, Zissou frowned and made breakfast plans.
At the cafe, between swallowing a mouthful of coffee and transferring scrambled eggs onto a piece of toast Zissou said "there is something I want to tell you" and launched into a tale most foul. Before showering he discovered the bathroom mat folded in the bathtub, he went to place it on the floor but it was filled with terrible faeces. What a shocking discovery for him to make inside The Peach.
The Spatula suspects it was the cat, I suspect it was the man but in either case I am mortified. What a terrible series of events to intrude on a wonderful evening. Now I am left sitting and pondering. I like Zissou and he says that he likes me. He is moving to Canberra very shortly to take up a position at a winery. I would like to see him again but am unsure of what the next move could be. It seems I am returning to my default setting of self-doubt. What charms could I possibly hold for a man who trails twenty more years than me, a man who feels so immense in character and heart that he has his own national borders.
Just in case I did not make it plain. I do not suspect Zissou of being the phantom crapper, not at all.
Comments
If your bathroom is covered with brown goo and he comes back, he's yours. If it was tiled in a scatological pattern and he bolts, then it was never meant to be.
That shows you where my head's at.
Rups xox