...it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing...

Talking to Farnam about my latest bodily conflict, by which I mean stupid uncalled-for illness: "Be careful", she says, "my [edit: great-] grandmother died from bronchitis".

I jokingly reply that if I die, my wardrobe is hers. She gets giddy "Awwww! I will take good care and cherish". Which stunned me because truthfully it wasn't the reply I was expecting. I wanted something along the lines of "don't worry, you won't die. My grandmother was old". Alas...

I saw the boy today and he was lovely. Lovely lovely lovely. Waited for him post his exam, and in the meantime mingled in the Christmas Tea with Vic president + alumni + faculty + other preppy go-getter (...right) students. Mingled and was cheery because I looked cute*, even was nice to people who didn't deserve. Well, to most people that didn't deserve. In one case, I may have smirked in a less than nice fashion, but that is one girl who will never be redeemed, ever. That wasn't the point though, the point was the boy and how he walked down the stairs with Italian breeze and a debonair smile. "Come on" he says with a directional nudge of his head, "let's get out of here".

I waannnttt. The more I spend time, the more others fall short, the more I want him for me and only me.

So earlier I was talking to my ex, and it was almost as if he had this checklist of conversation topics, and those were the only topics that stuck around in his head after too many blows of the football or whatever.

Hey-how-are-you's? Check.
School? Check.
Housemates inquiry? Check.
Will you be attending [insert latest Vic sports event here]? Check.

And then... he was done, nothing else to say. You could almost see the blank dawn over his face. I had to wonder if he had always been like that and I had just missed the glaring evidence of the fact that he's incapable of pulling a conversation? And what? Did you think I was going to do the conversation-effort thing? Oh please. So instead, I laughed a little inside and went to chat with Ben who was much more entertaining. And then the boy came down the stairs in the way he did, and all else was forgotten anyway. Damn those Italians. Damn them all.

P.S. The beard is gone. On the face, I'm glad, but secretly I will miss it a teensy bit. It was a little more... grownupish, bikerish, hotterish.

* Pink angora sweater and black pinstripe trousers, black pointy shoes and ICE purse, soft pink. The pearls. THE pearls. Yup, those ones.