We’re discussing our pre-game dinner when J decides he wants to play charades.
J: holds up five fingers
me: Five
J: points at self
me: Pussies?
J: flips the bird
me: Five pussies fuck me? That’s a hell of a restaurant!
just like a fine wine, that one…
It’s still not real that I accepted that job.
It’s still not real that I’m working for a large international company.
It’s still not real that I’m going to be back in the world that I loved so much.
There’s a world of difference between working for a hockey team in a rink that’s managed by someone else to working for that rink manager, but a lot of the perks are the same. I still get to walk around the rink when I’m having a bad day. I still get to experience that smell that is uniquely ice. I still get to experience everything I liked so much about working for the Storm.
——
I had the most terrifying dream about my father last night.
It may have even been worse than the one where I find him dead in his apartment…
My father had a Facebook account.
I know you’ve seen the Lamebook posts, or the ones that go viral in your FB newsfeed, you know, the ones with the parents from hell. The ones that overshare. The ones that think they’re funny.
Yep.
My dad would totally be that guy. And he’d be VERY active on my account. Like a little kid in need of constant attention.
*shudders*
