Quiet Weekend

Matt came over Friday night and stayed the weekend, we had the house to ourselves. Time for a quiet, healthy weekend. Pjs and socks.

Friday night we headed out and ate Ramen sitting on three leg wooden stools, before coming home and falling asleep on the couch. Very Friday night.

We went jogging each day, early. I’m good in the morning. Matt, not as good in the morning as me.

He’d stand out on the footpath bleary-eyed. Shirtless, small shorts. We got whistled at, which made us smile. We ran well, we compete when we run, of course, we can’t help it.

Getting whistled at inspired us to run fast, stronger, longer, bigger, taller. I couldn’t help but slide my hands up the back of Matt’s shorts when I thought nobody was watching, feeling his bum, as we stood at the lights.

Matt jumped. “Hey, hey, hey.”

“Pretty boy moved fast,” I said.

“It was a surprise attack.”

“You don’t usually mind,” I said.

“Your hands are cold.”

The lights changed and we both sprinted off.

Then there is serious competition, as our feet go whap, whap, whap and the footpath as we both jostle to get in front of the other. Okay, well, perhaps not get in front of the other, but not get behind. You know, he who comes last has to go bottom when we get home. Ha ha, not quite, but we are competitive and we don’t like to come second to the other when running.

It isn’t long before we fall into step and there is only the sound of one set of runners hitting the footpath as we sail down the street next to one another,

You know, I think that is my happy place, running in sink, ha ha that is only when we both soap each other up in the bath, um, er, in sync. There is a purity of motion, a sanctity of purpose, as we move like two well oil machines, especially on the road when the sun is coming up, or setting for that matter, that half light seems to put everything in perspective, somehow. I think it is the newness of something, or the last vestiges of something else that makes that moment special in time.

Matt cooked, Spaghetti Carbonara, no cream. I made a flourless chocolate cake. Hit it with some cream. The best thing.

Sunday, Matt made burgers, and I made raspberry muffins, they’re easy, poof, done. 

We got DVDs and a bag of pot. I introduced him to weed, I stuck a great, fat joint into his mouth and lit it. He took to it really well. He’s a natural. (He liked the newness of it, the taboo, I guess, but eventually, he would you know, take it, or leave it, not like me. He’d smoke it just because, as he said, I made him, but he wouldn’t look for it, other than that)

We were bleary-eyed and cuddled up late Sunday. Laughing. Ah, good times.