Yesterday afternoon, I got an email from my pal Lilly. Not my cat Lily. My friend Lilly the person.
"So, you're sad without Ned," she wrote.
"I am. It's ridiculous," I said.
"Chris is gone, too, and I am similarly ridiculous. Want to come over for dinner? You can help me with barn chores!"
Now, see. There is NOTHING more exciting to me than the idea of doing barn chores. I totally need my own barn, except for the days when I feel like not doing any sort of chore whatsoever. I totally need a barn of animals who can clean up after their own damn selves.
"I'LL BE THERE AT 6:30!" I emailed back.
Isn't it nice that Lilly actually misses her, you know, husband when he's gone? When Marvin would be gone I'd be so gleeful to have the house to myself. Sometimes I think I'd be better served just living alone forever and dating, like Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. I mean, he had that pesky wife and that's why they weren't together, but still.
I was excited to see Lilly, because I like Lilly and also I wanted to see her progress. Because she is finally letting me reveal to you what I have known for MONTHS and had to keep under my hat, which you know I don't like doing because I like to reveal news and have drama and so forth.
Lilly is pregnant!
In a family way!
And so on.
I found out a week after my birthday party that Jo threw, because AT the party Chris and Lilly were all, "You guys wanna go to a dive bar next weekend and see a band?" and we were all, "Yeah," and what was funny about that was that going to a dive bar to see a band is something late-20s Chris and Lilly would never do, and something late-40s Ned and I would do any old weekend.
The point is, Lilly canceled the next weekend because she felt so ill, and she told me why. Because she was pregnant and I was the father.
June Gardens, you ARE the father.
So that's been exciting.
Anyway, she's due March 16, which according to my math means she's 47 months along now, and last time I saw the heifer she was still gorgeous. I was kind of hoping for a chink in the armour yesterday, but she's still hot. She said she's waiting for the two-ax-handle ass, but I'll bet she'll be that bitch who looks the same from behind with that teeny "oh, bloop! Here's my baby!" in the front.
I'd show you a picture but, remember, she doesn't like her picture on my blog. THANKS, LILLY. We all want to abhor you for being cute and look what you've done to us.
As luck would have it, I had to work late and I/AM/SURE. I already put a scathing 25 hours a week in. What do they WANT from me? Blood? God.
So I screamed home and got out of work clothes:
Ohhh. Puppy Talu. I'm glad she's a grownup now and calm and so forth, but God she was a cute puppy.
The point is, I left late and my stupid camera battery was dead from going to the fair, so I had to use my iPhone 3, which is not stunning in low light. The last time I drove to Chris and Lilly's was in the spring, and that was a beautiful drive, and now driving there in the fall was just as pretty.
Guess who was doing a lot of barn chores? I mean, going around kissing geeese is totally a barn chore. Also, it was around this time that Lilly started telling me who was getting ready to get eaten for what occasion, and I kept saying, "DON'T SAY THAT IN FRONT OF THEM!" but I guess when you LIVE at a farm you are more casual about the whole, "In two weeks, you'll be sausage!" thing.
Eventually, she called in one of her horses (the streetlights were totally on) and I took action shots of her coming home.
She went in there and did whatever it is horses do when they first get home--check their email, eat some yogurt--then she came back out and cornered me with her snout or whatever it's called. "Lilly? Is...horsie nice?" I asked. Because guess what seems big when it's cornering you. She was riveted by my cell phone.
"Dat eye fone three? Why you gots sech old phone? Hrrrrrrr!"
After that, I was pretty exhausted from all the chores I helped pregnant Lilly with--and don't you want to be my friend too?--so we headed in to eat.
Because she's got a, you know, fetus or zygote or whatever you'd call something 47 months old in your gullet, I didn't bring wine to dinner. "Oh, I have nonalcoholic Chardonnay!" she said. "It's just awful."
This was us drinking the nonalcoholic Chardonnay. "Wow, this is...not as bad as I thought it might be." "Yeah! It's not THAT terrible." "Maybe it had time to get less awful while it remained in your fridge." "Yeah, maybe."
Enthusiastic? Headed out for another bottle? Wooo! Were we ever.
So that's the story. Ned texted me while I was there and was very excited to say, "Leaving Las Vegas," and then he was irked I didn't see the text right away. "I've been waiting all week to say that," he wrote. Anyway, I see him tonight and as you can imagine I'm pretty indifferent to that thought. Whatever. Ned. Pfft.
Did I mention he leaves again Monday for ANOTHER $#%%&&# work trip? GOD. Between that and my insane 25-hour work week and my barn chores, it's a wonder if we're able to get together at all.
June, helpful and out.