God Taps You On The Shoulder, Then Spits

Some time ago, Matt told me that he'd made this meal of pasta with real crabmeat the night before.

Scrumptious!

We got into this discussion of how to crack open the shell on a crab leg. "Piece of cake," Matt remarked.

"You're gonna have to show me sometime," i said.

When we went to dinner just recently, Matt said he'd just made pasta again.

"I thought of you," he said.

I was really touched.

Some time ago, Matt let on that, when he vacuumed his house, he loved to make those perfect rows with slants.

"Freak," I'd thought.

A few weeks later, when he asked what i did over the weekend, i informed him that i had vacuumed.

"Did you think of me?" Matt inquired.

"I did!" I admitted unabashedly. "But i didn't have to make those perfect rows."

Isn't it nice to know someone thinks of you outside of work.

Tonight, out of sadness and sheer patheticalness, i called Matt's cell. When he didn't pick up, i didn't leave a message.

Half an hour later, he called back. Sounded like he was still on the road at 7:05 p.m.

He didn't even know it was me. Didn't recognize my number.

"Sorry i missed your call," he said in his formulated brief message.

Good thing i'd already had a pep talk with myself beforehand, unabatedly aware that i shouldn't pick up when inebriated.

So there you go. There it is. The reply that i needed to my email.