I have few possessions of real value (apart from a cocktail cabinet I bought during a weak moment and the computer I'm currently typing on) but I'm very fond of certain things.
One is a Mongolian lambswool scatter cushion. First of all, I love the very term – scatter cushion. Like occasional table and lazy Susan, it suggests a certain nonchalance.
Also, it was given to me by Blair, my ex-boyfriend in New York, some 15 years ago. It's one of a few tangible memories of both him and my time there.
I've been stroking it intermittently ever since...
Yesterday evening, I noticed it wasn't in its usual spot. An hour of searching yielded nothing.
Cue decor-related panic attack and paranoid fantasies.
Had we been struck by a gay cat-burglar with a fetish for soft furnishings? Even worse, had a visitor stolen it?
Mick eventually told me I was being ridiculous (his interest had understandably shifted at this point to the Australia/NZ rugby league match on TV) and promised to look again in the morning.
After about 20 minutes he found it. At some point, in the throes of napping, he'd managed to wedge it deep in the bowels of the living room sofa-bed.
How, we may never know.
The relief, I'm embarrassed to admit, was immense.
But at least it's safe, if a tad bedraggled:
What a heart breaker that Blair. I'll bet he still clasps the silver silk scarf you made him...the one presented in that tattered old box from "John David/New York" stamped with the paws of those he loved most...Brad and Hokie in lipstick I believe (viva glam). These little possessions are reminders that...it is real.
ReplyDeleteAlways in my heart, and literally only you remember the Wank Street.
ReplyDeleteMakes a hell of a wig, too.
ReplyDeleteEspecially on J-Ho.
ReplyDelete