February 21, 2010; A Cuddle and Convo

In the afternoon, after Mook A takes me for my walk, he takes a pain killer, pours himself a coffee and then gets in the La-Z Boy with me to read and to watch our antique shows on BBC. He can do both because, as with all things BBC, the pace of the shows is leisurely and they're not particularly visual so you can tune in and out.

The other day I asked him, "So how are things between you two?"

"Better and it's still none of your business."

"I just want to know who gets me if Mommy and Daddy get a divorce."

"Shaddup."

There was a pleasant silence and then he said, "Would you like me to read to you?" This sounded like fun and I said, "What from?" "The latest Dan Brown." "The 'Da Vinci Code' guy? Cool!"

He read me ten or fifteen pages and then I said, "You can stop reading now."

"Why?"

"'Cause it's crap," I said. He laughed and said, "Yes it is. Would you like me to read to you from 'Of Human Bondage'? That's crap too, though." I said no and we went back to our pleasant silence. When the antiques shows were over he flipped the TV over to that goomer Rick Sanchez on CNN. He was talking about the rise of the right in the US and A went tsk-tsk-tsk.

"How do you like your Obama now, big feller?" I said.

"He is disappointing. I can't understand why he doesn't hear the left and the middle screaming and do what he promised every one he would do."

"Because it's not that kind of country," I said.

"I don't understand."

"Take health care. What makes you think that in a country which is profoundly capitalist citizens will see it as their responsibility to take care of each other."

"I suppose you're right. I like Americans, but they disappoint me too."

"What makes you think we're any better here?" I said.

"Well...health care—"

"—big whoop! Look at yourself. You're being relatively well tended to by the health system but your medical allowance is—what?—700 bucks?"

"704," he corrected me lamely.

"So that's rent, some groceries and nothing, nothing, nothing else. If you didn't have Boo-Boo helping you out, you'd be fucked. You'd be starving. How is that any more just than the US?"

There was a long silence and then he said, "Boo-Boo?"

"That's what I call him."

"And what do you call me?"

I didn't say Mook A as I hadn't said Mook B or ever, ever, ever talked about this blog so I said the first thing that came into my head, "Skeeter."

"Skeeter?"

"That's what that straight guy calls you. Works for me."

There was another long, cozy, warm silence which he broke with, "Can all dogs talk?"

"Mommy, why is the sky blue?" I said.

He laughed and said, "Never, ever, call me Mommy."

"More like Granny I think." He laughed. "Or Auntie."

"Skeeter will do just fine."

This time the silence held and I fell into a deep, deep sleep.