date day

Could I organize a date for us?

And then you would say, of course. I’m sticking to you like glue. 

Good, because I want you to be. First let’s wake up at 6:30 because one of my dogs dictates it. While I’m groggily yelling, you can laugh, but only for a little bit.

I’d get out of bed and start the coffee, but only after I let the dogs outside. We’d sit down over oatmeal, fruit and coffee and a highlighted piece of newspaper. It’s our garage sale list, of course. I’d be planning our route.

And then we’d leave the dishes dirty in the sink and the dogs would go where they always do when I leave them, and we’d strike out. Just the two of us in search for cheap shit that I can either refurbish or use to build other stuff.

We’d conquer the maze of garage sales before it gets too hot and I have a meltdown in the car. We might meet a friend for lunch.

We would spend the afternoon refinishing two steel vintage tabletops that have been sitting in my kitchen for a month. We’d blare music and I’d furtively read the directions I printed off of Google. You could laugh at me again. The dogs would mill around, panting and trying to stay under my feet. I’d probably step on one of them when I back away from the kitchen sink. While I’m fixing our afternoon snack, I’d start defrosting the freezer and preparing excess veggies to freeze. Or I might take my book and sit outside in the sun.

I’d want to move the bookshelf from the nook into the bedroom where I want my new flat screen TV to sit on top of it. I’d recruit you to help me move it.

In the evening, we would cook and take the dogs to the river. We’d watch a TV show on my laptop and engage in silence.

How does that sound, me?

It sounds just fine. Remember, I’m sticking to you like glue.