May Bank Holiday weekend...

... or the beginning of summer as they call it here.

It is raining of course.

Himself has gone fishing.

Up at 7.30am this morning, tearing the apartment apart looking for his tackle.

fnar

It was in the car of course. Queenie remembered when the noise brought her to enough to ask what the noise was about.

"I never get to do nuthin! Goddamn, never!"

Queenie and Himself have had a few scheduled events cancelled on us by life recently, hockey games and gigs and weekends off and fishing trips etc., so Himself was convinced this weekend's fishing wouldn't happen.

Queenie was determined that it would. So she forced her brain to wake up enough to find whatever it was that was standing between her man and his day to Himself.

When a man's had a day out on a lake in a canoe with two buddies and a chance to catch some fish he's a whole different kind of man when he gets home.

Which is good for Queenie.

"Why do you never get to do anything, pet? What can't you find?"

Rumble, mutter, growl, sound of the storage closet being rearranged by a maniac was all I got.

"Oh for chrissake, why are you disturbing the whole building at this hour of the morning?"

That worked.

"I can't find my tackle."

I resisted the urge to tell him to look in his underpants. That I was sure I had spotted it there not ten minutes before.

"I think it's in the car, dear."

"I looked in the car."

"It's in the cooler in the car."

"Why the hell did you put it in the cooler?!"

"I didn't put it in the cooler dear."

"Oh."

Stomp, mutter, clunk, clunk down the stairs.

He didn't come back up and Fat Albert is gone from the front yard, so I assume he's gone fishing.

I went for lunch with a friend I hadn't seen in months and we talked about everything, and then saw a movie, The Visitors. Good movie, same director as The Station Agent. Same theme, loneliness in the crowd and finding a new way to have a family. This film dealt with illegal immigrants, rather than physical disability.

Then we went downtown to look at the new lululemon store.

Utter chaos.

There were thirty five people lined up at the checkout to pay for the same pair of yoga pants.

So we gave up and went to worship at the Starbuck's shrine to consumerism instead, then went round the corner to Elsie's consignment store, where Elsie had a fantastic selection of shoes, bags and unique clothes. And I got an Anne Taylor preppy red and blue print skirt and a pair of matching sparkly red ballet pumps for the same price as a tank top in lululemon. And my friend got a Betty (somebody, not Jackson, the one with the stores with the chandeliers) cashmere bolero for not much more.

A nice female city afternoon.

I haven't had a nice female city afternoon since the day I went shopping with Colombo in Dublin last new year's.

Tonight Kitty and I will get a gourmet pizza and chill out and wait for the fisherman to come home with his booty.

Assuming he got some booty with his tackle.

Hopefully the sun will come out tomorrow.

Then we can clean up the debris from last night's welcome to the summer bonfire.