So this morning--or, y'know, what passes for "morning" on a Saturday here at the Humble Abode--my father called out to me from the kitchen. As I made my way there, the words "What did you say? I thought you said, 'there's a toad in the kitchen,'" were coming out of my mouth.
But as I rounded the corner, there was my father, bracing himself against a chair, and there, in the middle of the kitchen floor was a toad.
My dad was going on about 'how did that get in here? it's because you leave the door open...' or something. I scooped up the toad (he was beautiful, this pale greenish-brown, like ancient, weathered bone). I took him out on the porch, and let him go in the garden.
A toad... I used to spend my summer days in childhood catching toads and frogs.
This guy didn't even piss in my hand. (It's their defense mechanism. If Faithful Companion got a hold of him in his mouth, it would have made him sick.) And when I let him go, he just sat there.
Beautiful.
And then, just now, I was out on the porch having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I heard this sort of metallic clunking sound. I thought it was Faithful Companion's tail knocking something. But when I heard it again, I got a better sense of where it was coming from. I stepped off the porch and examined the downspout of the rain gutter.
And sure enough, there was a box turtle, knocking up against it with his hard shell.
This was a different box turtle from the one the other day. He was older, with a more mature design on his shell. I went out, plucked him up, and carried him back to the
Turtle, toad, turtle.
Could this be something like an angelic Morse code? What's going on here?
I choose to believe it's some good portent. Something good is coming my way. Or maybe someone good.
And that's good. I need that.
That Guy From LA is on Fire Island this week. I told him how I had off all this week. How I couldn't afford to go down to Florida. How much I loved Fire Island. If it crossed his mind to invite me out for a day, he sure didn't give that away by anything he said.
Ah well. I abide.
I've been sort of hard-hearted concerning menfolk of late. I've met exactly two-and-a-half men in my life who I found... compelling. That's the word. Men who sort of had it all. They were so hot I couldn't think clearly when I looked at them. And I could just talk to them forever and ever, never exhausting things to think about. They were men who loved life, and who lived people. And what a great team we'd make. Like the Hardy Boys (only, y'know, not related; and we'd fuck), just chafing at the bit to get out there and have some new adventure.
Body, mind, spirit. Everything I love about all the men in my life, although ample quantities of each in the form of one guy. Two and a half times!
And at this point in my life, I'm less and less willing to settle for anything less than the complete package. Settling just gets me into trouble. Sure, he has an amazing body with that beer gut and those sixteen inch guns on him and all that hair, but if I have to hear about how this is like a Will & Grace episode one more time... Or, gosh, it's amazing that this guy can reel off these amazing poems from memory, but what is up with those toenails of his?
Oh. And he has to be accessible, too. Someone I can call up and make plans for Friday night with on a wednesday afternoon at Starbucks.
And, it goes without saying, he has to be absolutely twisted. And omnivorously so.
Anyway. I'm off to the annual July Fourth Weekend Dungeon Party hosted by friends of mine who live in Pottstown. Longtime readers may remember the Yellow Dress dilemma when I went there two years ago. No such anxieties this time around. I'm just going for the burgers and hot dogs. Although maybe I'll meet some special guy...
Or maybe those were just a couple of turtles and a toad that happenstance placed in my path.
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