This is not Deb. Really. She has insisted that I make that clear, least you mistake my senseless ramblings for her sleek and hilarious postings under the influence of....who knows? At the risk of being thrown out of Canada, I have high jacked her blog, and do so with no shame. Could it be the vodka?
I am not sure how many of you have been been treated to a meal chez Deb. You arrive for a 5 o'clock (yes, I do mean 5pm or 17h as you Canadians like to call it) dinner and she greets you at the door cursing, sweating, and threatening to shove one tool or another up the arse of one friend or another. Tonight she was engaged in an exotic dance with the A/C unit. I caught only the tail end so I can't say how many strikes she was down...but with a few encouraging words and a helping hand....she managed to win the battle, and I sighed gratefully as she unleashed a ice cold stream of air into her somewhat steamy apartment. Go Deb! Who needs a man anyway? (her quote not mine...I continue to actively seek one, or two, or three....)
Worrying because she is now 15 minutes behind schedule....Deb decides to do the utmost of multi-tasking....cooling down from her strenuous labor while preparing a gourmet meal. This includes a semi strip tease where she rips off her cute little gingham top and tosses it on a chair somewhere. Leaving me gazing at her beautiful new navy and white polka-dot contour bra, stuffed to the max with her ample and lovely chest. Let me tell you....this was better then my usual late night marathon of CSI:Miami, back when I was pregnant with twins and stuck on the sofa unable to sleep due to acid reflux and pre-eclampic legs the size of tree trunks. David Caruso has NOTHING on Deb's bosom. Yee-ow! I declined the offer to join her and remove my own top since I was 1. not even sweating 2. in a very non-sexy sports bra that had just supported me through a run and 3. well, she was expecting a visitor or two at any time. Need I any other excuse?
Dinner was an AMAZING salad per my request, always my request. I LOVE her salads as much as I love her nuttiness. Deb has a knack for making salad, as well as a knack for finding a way to incorporate alcohol into any type of meal that she makes for me. Breakfast: mimosas, Lunch: beer, coffee break: beer, Dinner: wine, beer, and vodka mixed with "some kind of juice in the bottom of the fridge I think is still good!" I am starting to worry that she only enjoys my stellar company after I am a bit snackered. She even went as far as to say she had dessert. Which I at first thought was going to be a face-plant into her ever present and semi naked chest....but she assured me "these are not for dessert, dear, you're allergic to milk, remember?" Thank God for small miracles.
The lemon meringue pie which she worked so hard to thaw and serve hits the dessert plate with a smack that resonates like my ass when it used to get slapped (willingly) by my Martinique ex-boyfriend. One would think that three hours of daily triathlon training would take the jiggle out of any white girls bum. But alas....it seems to move just like the white topping of the pie when I shake the dessert plate. Ah well....time to move to the Caribbean.
Dessert and coffee leads to more talk of mutual friends....one that Deb hooked me up with a year ago as a potential roommate. Our co-housing lasted a year, and as fun as it was....I am still chasing him around looking for some final payments. I was asking if she had seen him around so I could collect the last of the overdue bills , when she perked up and said that she would be happy to pay his share for him IF he would perform " certain favors" for her. Now that the A/C is all in order perhaps she is referring to those shelves she needs installed??
In conclusion, I do believe that if we all made dinner at least once a week in our skivvies (I seldom make dinner but I do spend much of my time walking around in my undies) the world would be a better place. If Deb is not the finest example of how it is the simple things in life that keep us excited and aroused .....then dammit....I'll take off MY shirt for our next dinner together.
[signed] C
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