Got the official invitation to my graduation today. Tres worrying. I do not feel old enough to be a university graduate.
Anita’s out for a night at the theatre with Richard. The theatre sounds like it’s situated in the most depressing and deprived urban slum imaginable. Great place for a theatre, that. She treats us to a lengthy description of the ticket office and going inside because it adds to the word count before she spots Richard.
I liked Richard. I’m not so keen on him now.
Was Richard looking for victims? Prey? He was, after all, a werewolf.
And you’re his judgemental bitch of a girlfriend. I ain’t judging you. Except that I am. Constantly. For justified reasons.
His suit was some rich shade of green. Most men would have looked like Peter Pan in a green suit, but on him it looked just right.
No, I don’t think I would confuse them.
He saw me and smiled. The smile was very bright against his permanently tanned skin. His last name, Zeeman, is Dutch, but somewhere back in his ancestry was something not European. Not blond, not fair, not cold. His eyes were a perfect, chocolate brown.
I’m sorry, but don’t Mediterranean or Eastern European people (to which olive skin is a common characteristic) count as being European? My aunt has lovely olive skin and it’s a throwback to my family’s Roma Sicilian roots. We’re very European. Or, Hamilton, does being pale and blond and you know, Aryan, only count as being European in your mind?
You are on thin ice already with your BS racism.
Accusing [Richard] of murdering intent might spoil the evening.
In other news, fire is hot, rain falls from the sky, and bears shit in the woods.
Plus Richard’s hair is in some fancy dancy super amazing complicated braid for… some reason. I think she just wanted to talk about his hair which is golden and beautiful.
He’d done something to it, pulled it back somehow so it gave the illusion of being very short and close to his head. Not easy with hair as wavy as his.
Well done. You’ve worked out he’s tied his hair back. God, I pity you.
He laughed. It was a good laugh, warm and thick like Christmas pudding.
What a lovely metaphor. What a caring and romantic image to think of when people smile. Blue fiery love.
Anita talks about how she always carries her gun and then justifies hold hands with her boyfriend ‘to keep from being separated’. What is this crazy emotion the humans call affection? They sit down and Anita complains about wanting to lean on her boyfriend because if she just did it, she’d be too feminine or some bullshit. She wants to nuzzle his neck but thinks that’s too ’embarrassing’. Anita, you’re behaving like you’re the victim of serious sexual abuse. It is okay to show someone you care for and desire that you care and desire them.
But anyway Guys and Dolls. Funsies.