Sunnies

Maybe I overdid it this time; I’ve never worn sunnies at night and certainly not with the ridiculous looking shirt that I got from some little alley in Malaysia. It has small pictures of whales on it, straight out of a nursery rhyme book I presume, though I don’t remember hearing any rhymes about whales as a child.

The chimes of happy bells greet me as I press the doorbell. I hear the eccentric looking wooden door spring open to reveal a familiar face that I've been accustomed to ever since I was in high school, smiling at me and doing the hand-waves characteristic of Queen Victoria herself.

Casually beckoning me into your apartment, I notice how you've brought over your traits of extremism to the Southern Hemisphere. There's not one speck of dust to be seen on any table top, and even the Men's Health magazines have been arranged chronologically on the shelf. Nude art strung over the walls coupled with amber lights and candles puffing up some hideously strong essence into the air; I could tell instantly that you've not changed one bit.

You're still the Steve I used to know.

Dinner served on the table immediately catches my attention. I notice that you went great lengths to put out your finest China coupled with your spoons that were more reflective than the mirrors in my bathroom. With Bree-van-der-Kamp style serving protocols, you make sure that everything is in order, even the napkin across my lap feels warm. First the champagne. Then the entree of potato and leek puree, followed by generous servings of roast duck and some weird looking sauce that tastes like heaven.

Looking into your eyes I sense a tinge of loneliness, perhaps from the hours spent behind the desk each day toiling over spreadsheets. Your hair, as always, is casually ruffled up in a Japanese-Mohawk style, perhaps to suit your thinning eyebrows so characteristic of your ancestral traits.

Casually walking around in your tank top, you seem to have no qualms about flaunting your physique. I have always admired your ability to maintain a tan in this impossible weather. I'd like to see the bills for your solarium to put me off from pursuing the same kind of obsession that you have for your skin, though I’d imagine I’ll never have the same form of discipline as you to climb into a cave and get shot by a million UV-rays two times a week. I notice that you've left your underwear area untanned, was that deliberately done to tease me, because you certainly got my attention.

I don't get your whole fetish for cats. The way the bloody pussy fans her tail across your face will put off any man wanting to kiss you. Luckily for you, I don't particularly like the whole act of kissing; I seem to find it repulsive.

I catch sight of a fish bowl on the mantle piece. I wonder if the cat has noticed a fat juicy orange goldfish bubbling inside. Or perhaps your cat is a Buddhist. Nothing like a religious cat for the eccentric owner.

Your bed is warm and the sheets are carefully folded to perfection. I feel bad jumping all over it and telling you how comfortable your bed is. That look of disgust on your face makes me smile. Don’t worry. I’ll tidy up the bed rearrange the pillows pick up the table clock that I accidentally kicked onto the floor and straighten the lampshade that carelessly knocked with the pillow just a few moments ago.

Blueberry pie on the bed with the telly switched on in a distance. All I hear is some fat lady broadcasting the latest news. Who employed her must have a fetish for fat women, she looks like a puffed up China doll with fat cheeks. I feel your hand stroking against my legs as I chew away at the delicious pie your grandmother baked two days ago. What is that feeling? What does it mean?

I don’t want you to advance on me in the same way I wish you’d do towards your boyfriend. I am merely a companion to you, and I cannot flirt with you no matter how much I’d like to jump into your pants and scream H-A-L-L-E-L-U-J-A-H

I don’t want you to smell differently when he comes back and I don’t want to be responsible for the ruckus that will result from my ignorance and your flirtatious nature. Sorry if I pushed your hand away too hard, I didn’t mean to make you spill a few crumbs on your satin sheets.

I catch you shooting a look of disdain across the room as you get up and stampede out of the room. I stare at the open door with disbelief that you can so casually look me in the eye and mentally undress me right under the portrait of your late father hanging over the mantelpiece. With a small nod of approval, I’d unleash a beast that has been waiting to assault every part of me ever since the few glasses of wine we had on our first date.

But not today. The beast will stay caged.

8 degrees outside and you prompt me to stay, but I cannot. It is getting late, and I have other commitments in the morning. You bend over to give me a peck on the cheek but I gently disapprove. You have to watch your manners around me, and no, it has nothing to do with the brand of mouthwash you use.

I pretend not to look at you staring back at me as I leave your humble home. I walk towards the tram stop across the street from where you live and I hear the door shut softly behind you as you retreat back into your love nest, wondering if you’d ever learn to appreciate the person whom you share the mortgage with.

It amazes me that you guys have lasted this long, but then again as they say, love can be blinding sometimes.

Luckily for me, I had my sunnies on.