Let's be honest: I am a creative genius. Now, before you assume that I could use a slice of humble pie, know this: in a way, this is my my greatest fault (along with working too hard, and caring too much, and cooking too well, and looking too good in red). Don't believe me? Last night, I was up until 12:30 crafting. When I finally exerted self control enough to put myself into bed, I lay awake for who knows how much longer, crafting in my mind. I tried to drive the creative thoughts back, I tried humming my favorite hymn, I tried reciting the Articles of Faith, but the fiery darts of genius would not be blighted. This horrible curse! I forget to eat, forget to drink, forget sometimes, to go to the bathroom. My dishes, my laundry, they hold no urgency. They are only more loathsome than they would be were I not a creative genius. Do not envy me. Indeed, pity me, poor soul that I am. Completely helpless against the slave driver that is my own creativity.
Enough drama. Saturday, the night before Benny's birthday, we went to a Kirkmount concert. This is the same Celtic trio whose reels and jigs accompanied me through high school, and who have been dear to me ever since. So devoted was I to Kirkmount, that I would have married any one of the three brothers, but I had in particular set my cap at the middle boy, the fiddler. Ben foiled that plan by entering the picture before I had gotten my chance to woo this musician, and so I attended the concert with innocent intentions. We arrived late. And unfortunately, the fiddler had grown a beard since his boyhood, and I couldn't resist... examining this alteration to his appearances. Ben leaned over to me during the first song, and this conversation commenced
Ben: "I like watching the harp guy best."
Eirene: "I like to watch the fiddler best. I won't say why..." (a pause.)"You are aware that in high school, I was planning to marry him?" (Ben glares at the fiddler.)
The song ends, and the fiddler stands to give a blurb about Nova Scotia or something, and it becomes immediately apparent, to my horror, and Ben's delight, that he is obviously, and overwhelmingly, gay. To frost the bitter cake, he was wearing a black wife-beater under his white Sunday shirt. Goo.
Ben: "I'm glad you could get some closure on this."
Other than that, I had a toe-tapping good time with my wonderful, kind, handsome, thoughtful, and very straight husband.
Eirene
3 comments:
I LURVE Eirene.
Thanks Rene...I needed a good chuckle. There is always Cat Stevens, though I hear he is muslim now and changed his name to Yusiv Muhammid something or other. Oh well, I am sure he would still have you.
Poor, pitiful Eirene. Tell that creativity of yours to give you a break...and to whip me up a few things, dang it! I've missed your posts, glad to see all is well!
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