There was also a bust-up involving RTT. But that one ended happily with bee-yoo-tee-ful flowers!
Basically, he forgot that Sunday is my birthday!
I’d been planning to go up to Ithaca this weekend because I haven’t been up there in a while since I refuse to drive long distances in the winter because snow! black ice! ugh! so I haven’t seen RTT since November, and I miss him.
The birthday timing was coincidental.
But when he texted me late Monday night that there was this girl… and the girl was having a birthday party on Saturday night in Rochester…so could I?... I got furious.
No, I certainly could not, you ungrateful twerp! Oh, sharper than a serpent’s tooth, and by the way—your share of the fabled DiLucchio cough drop fortune? Forget about it.
I canceled my hotel reservations.
(RTT’s apartment is a pig stye. Even if there were no such thing as Covid, I would never stay there.)
Ensued the next morning a great deal of texting.
I didn’t try to drop a set of plans, argued RTT, I tried to move them back one day without thinking about the specific date, I’m sorry.
To which I replied, Robin, I’ve been through those “change of plans” scenarios with you before. What invariably happens is that when you return to resume whatever plans you had with me, you are invariably (a) exhausted and (b) kind of resentful. Not doing that again.
Eventually, he saw the light and accepted the fact that he had behaved like a total asshole and apologized most abjectly.
I accept your apology, I said. We’re good.
A couple of hours later, the flowers arrived.
I immediately called him to thank him.
“Gabriela told me I should send them to you,” he said. “I told her what happened. She was outraged. She said I needed to send you flowers.”
“The flowers are gorgeous!” I said. “You tell Gabriela I ❤️LUV❤️ her!”
Later that night, RTT texted a photo:
That’s Gabriela. She considers u a mom now.
I am DEFINITELY one of Gabriela’s Moms! I texted back.
There are few insults or injuries I won’t forgive if the follow-up is flowers:
Anyway, this left the birthday-to-come weekend untenanted, so all day yesterday, I amused myself with thoughts of travel.
Should I drive to Newport and view the fabulous mansions of the one-time feelthy rich who if there is any justice in Christian mythology are now rotating on greasy spits in Hell’s own Bar-B-Q shack?
Should I hop an Amtrak to Philadelphia and tour the birthplace of American liberty but, more importantly, see the murals?
Should I go down to Manhattan, drop in on my boyfriend Thomas Cromwell at the Frick, visit Henry VIII’s Before and After armor at the Met, check out the David Hockney portraiture exhibit at the Morgan Library?
(I do loves me some David Hockney. And even if I didn’t, his insistence that smoking two packs of cigarettes a day is the best protection there is against Covid would have won me over completely.)
If I went to Manhattan, though, it was unlikely I would get to meet up with my two gurls—the one having an exhausting work week and a very hunky husband to spend weekends with; the other always having a lot of appointments, which necessitate a great deal of pre-scheduling for play dates.
So, in the end, I decided…
To stay home!!!!
I have a bunch of projects right now that are actually fairly absorbing:
(A). The cat for my retablo. My intention is a kind of Puss in Boots cat:
But, of course, visual arts are not exactly my strong point, so who knows what he will look like? I watched a bunch of polymer clay sculpting YouTube videos last night. Apparently, you have to build an armature for standing figures? Who knew? I’m off to buy 12 gauge aluminum wire today.
(B). My garden. I just bought 20 pounds of organic compost (cow manure.). And seedling potatoes and shallots. Last year, I just planted tiny potatoes I bought at the supermarket, and Claud was horrified, “No, no, no, no, no, no!!!”
(C) The transliteration of the first-piece-I-ever-published to Google docs. The piece is long; Google Docs’ OCR powers, ever-capricious.
The hard thing will be dissuading L from planning any kind of surprise party at which I will have to act bashful and pretend to be pleased to be this old. I’ve told her: Please! No party!
Hopefully, she’ll listen. Crossposted from Dreamwidth.