The house will never be clean unless we can afford a maid service, and we’ll only eat when we both remember to (not often), and we’ll both pull away just when we achieve perfect closeness and you’ll accuse me of getting the wrong cat food on purpose and I’ll say you know that’s a sore spot of mine. I’ll get lost in the bathroom mirror and you’ll wonder what’s taking so fucking long, and I’ll say I’ve finally pinpointed the location of my superior self and I’m negotiating her release. This used to be the sort of thing to intrigue you but now you’re yelling about us having tickets for something, can’t even remember what but they were a give away and I shout that I’ve nearly talked her down, she’s smiling from the other side, so serene about something I don’t understand but she’s whispering directions. Just one sharp left and then two right turns, knock-twice-pause-knock, and when I arrive I’ll be naked and every inch of me will be slippery.
And then you say: do we have to be late for everything?