The Meal
Wil: I feel out of sorts.
Me: Physically or mentally?Wil: Physically. I think I just need to eat.
Me: Want me to bring you Taco Bell?
Wil: No. Not junk food. Something healthy.
A few hours later, Wil texted me asking if I would make him
mac and cheese. Good choice, Wil. But not exactly a ‘healthy’ meal. Before I
agreed to such a simple request, I offered to make him a quinoa casserole (sans
veggies, of course). The idea of vegetables may scare Wil into starvation, but
throw in a grain he has never heard of… a mega-healthy grain, nonetheless… and
Wil will politely tell you to go fuck yourself. Mac and cheese it was.
I’m not the kind of girl to force healthy choices on anyone,
myself included. Hell, my dinner had consisted of a handful of Ruffles and some
French onion dip. Who was I to judge? So I didn't argue. And just to make sure his liver could
participate in the slow-suicide-by-shitty-food-choices the rest of his body was
enduring, I picked him up a four pack of Guinness before heading to his
apartment. I’m thoughtful like that.
The Apartment
To say that Wil’s apartment is a ‘little messy’ is like
saying a prostitute is a ‘little loose’. No, she isn’t a little loose, she is a
gaping wide open whore. Okay, I know what you’re thinking. You’re imagining
some TLC Hoarders shit where boxes of useless items are piled to the ceiling. Well,
you are wrong. Wil doesn’t hoard, he just doesn’t clean. So erase that image
and picture this:
Will drinks a beer and leaves the empty can wherever he last sets it. Eight months ago. He takes off his clothes to play Super Mario (don’t
ask) and leaves the pile of discarded garments on the floor. Six months ago.
Even fluffs the dirty clothes up so his kitties can lay on them comfortably. If
he finishes a pack of smokes, the empty pack is abandoned on a table, a
counter, the carpet, the cat tree, the desk, the floor, etc. All of them have
been there since 2010, I am sure of it.
So instead of some insane hoarder look, his place more
closely resembles the morning after a very intense party where all the men got
naked, drank a lot of beer, read historical fiction, smoked an insane amount of
cigarettes and played video games all night.
Usually, I find messy places disturbing. I’m a germaphobe. The
idea of nine month old pizza still sitting in a fridge is enough to make me want
to pass out. But, strangely, Wil’s apartment does not upset me. His place is a
living historical record. I can see exactly what in the last year he has eaten
and drank, how many cigarettes he has smoked, what he has been wearing, what he has
read, which games he has played, what color his hair was for Halloween, what
his soda choices have been, how many times he has had a cold, where he went
shopping (receipts are also cat toys) and every piece of mail he has received. It’s
better than Facebook stalking. It’s real-life-but-without-any-effort stalking.
Fascinating.
Why don’t you just clean it for him, you ask? What is this,
1953? Never ask me that again. Plus the sweet-girl-that-does-nice-things part
of me is ALWAYS overshadowed by the lazy-girl-who-doesn’t-do-shit part of me.
You should know that by now.
Anyways, last night I played a game I call “How many packs
of cigarettes can I throw away without being noticed?” I made it to 11. It’s
my new high score.
Hanging Out
We hang out and have sex. What more do you need to know?
Sometimes we end up at a bar. Sometimes we never move from the couch. There is always
intrigue and mystery and occasionally there is a dead body and a crime that
needs solving. I might have made that last part up.
Sleeping with Wil
The most fun part about being around Wil is his sleep
talking. I tell him it is like having tea with the Mad Hatter and I am not
lying. Awake Wil is a little off in the head. Asleep Wil is completely bonkers.
Here are some fun conversations we have had while he was sleeping.
Last Week –
Wil: (sitting up and holding down my head) You’re blocking
ninja #9!!
Me: I’m sorry. Can you see him now?Wil: No… he’s in the ocean.
This Weekend –
Wil: Do not get shit on my white pants!
Me: Why the fuck are you wearing white pants?
Wil: That’s not your business. Just keep your shit away from them.
Last Night –
Wil: You’re putting too much salt on it!!
Me: It needs flavor.Wil: Look at what you’re doing! Do you really need that much salt?
Me: Yes, I do. I’m going to use all the salt I have on this thing.
Wil: Typical. I’m not eating it. (turns his back to me angrily)
Wil: (2 minutes later) Are you done yet?
Me: Still pouring salt.
Wil: On who?
Me: I thought we were talking about food?
Wil: People are going to be really mad at you.
Me: You included?
Wil: This isn’t about me. Now hush up.
You know, I am beginning to think everyone should spend an evening with Wil. I might
have to capitalize on this idea. Maybe rent him out to friends and strangers. Hmm...
Let me know
if you are interested.
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