Those little things that are love

People blog and write books about all sorts of petty events from their meaningless existence, like a voyeur on a cross they litter the vast field of human knowledge with uninteresting stories to the extent of being Generic. And I’m no different.

I was supposed to argue with my boss about my salary today, working conditions, and the infinitely sad state of my work schedule when the boss had to leave my case unsettled for private reasons. Great, I was left there hanging, like the last two years. This meant having to keep working without knowing for sure that the spice would flow. So I was glad to get out of there, but sorry to leave.

Which is why it was such a jolly good surprise to meet my Lady C at the bus stop. I stumbled out of the bus, groceries in my hand and my mind elsewhere when she suddenly appeared right in front of me. "KISS!" she said. I didn’t even have the time to be surprised, or hard to get, before she was in the bus I just got out from and left.
She was on her way to visit a friend, and I didn’t expect to see her.

Thinking about this, I smiled as I made my way up the godforsaken five floors I have to climb every fucking day to get to the apartment. I got inside, put the groceries down and headed for the bathroom. It felt good, if you have to know. (And reading this, I suppose you do.) Went back into the kitchen, picked out the beer and put ’em in the fridge, put the frozen pizza on the table and turned on the oven. That’s when I saw it. At first I couldn’t believe it, it just couldn’t be true. Was it really real? I swallowed solemnly while revering every inch of the realization that crept upon me like a slow sunrise in the time frame of geological foreplay.

Lady C had actually taken out the trash.

All of it.

All by herself.

Even the cans that need recycling in another bin on the other side of the complex. Without even writing a letter to me detailing the depth of her travails! I was shocked, amazed, relieved and deeply worried all at the same time. Was it a sign? A token of love or a desperate cry for help? Everybody knows it stand to reason that no woman is physically or mentally constituted in such a way as to be able at all to bear the terrible burden of taking the garbage outside. Even now, an hour later, my mind boggles. And so do you, dear reader. You are wondering if you’ve just come across one of my short-stories of the science-fiction genre. I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you at all… I’m still baffled beyond words. But have a nice weekend!

EDIT: 12th of March 2009
This post has raised a lot of attention internationally, and I have received e-mails from both of them. The support has been tremendous, the amazement wild like wildfire, and Lady C’s inbox has been running full of marriage proposals. I am so terribly sad to convey the truth however.

Though not a creature of science-fiction, Lady C was quick to denounce my story as pure imagination. Later the same evening she came clean about the matter and revealed the facts of it; It was I who had taken out the garbage, she hadn’t even thought about it, and therefore the drivel above — which has been compared to the drivel of Joyce himself — is not a beautiful expression of the joyous surprises of life, but a tale of how an over-worked mind perceives the world as nicer and prettier than ’tis to shield it from the painful truth. It’s a dream, a hallucination, or a mirage if you will. But not the truth. I just wanted it to be true, and I believed it, but C wouldn’t let me continue to live a lie. So we are back to yesterday’s status quo, and the world is yet again a dark, cold and lonely place..

One thought on “Those little things that are love”

  1. Such capitivating drivel, my friend. Jaime says with no irony whatsoever, “I was entralled all the way though.” The mark of greatness is giving treatment to some retarded topic like “taking out the garbage” and having it come out like Joyce. Bravo!

    Of course maybe there was a hint, a lure perhaps, that maybe there would be some sex at the end or something. I dunno :-)

    I think that maybe you leave the reader with a better lesson though – a woman who takes out the trash may just be better than sex.

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