When he’s not scent marking, he’s busy retrieving miscellaneous items back to me. It’s usually mundane stuff like branches, plastic bags, paper cups, etc. Sometimes, he brings back items that are a little more unconventional such as condoms or dead iguanas. But those items are few and far in between. So much so that I rarely think about what he brings back to me. That is until the other day.
So I’m looking at my car and comparing it to my neighbor’s clean, shiny car. A runway model parked next to a housefrau. But there’s something familiar with my car, something endearing. It’s not so bad. Then I remember that I have a couple of torn-up, faded, stretched-out t-shirts (and yes I admit, several pairs of underwear) that I refused to give up. A smile sneaks on my face “ I do know the value of sentiment, of comfort, of familiarity. It’s a good feeling.
So I’m wondering where I misplaced the memo detailing all the current sexual innuendos, out-nuendos, under-nuendos, and any other “nuendos. When tossing the salad no longer involves the use of tongs (or maybe it still does). I’m scared that I’ll say hello to a co-worker and it will mean I like to see you naked.
The transformation was instantaneous. The short, awkward kid bloomed into this smooth, fluid dancer who moonwalked, twirled and balanced on his toes with such dexterity, it was as if Michael Jackson was truly channeling through. It reminded me of crippled believers walking again with a touch of a preacher’s hand.