poor mama

Toscar is here, taking a late night shower. He’s staying the night which inevitably means some hanky panky and an argument about something incredibly trivial. I made dinner (a plate of burned everything and some bread) and we watched shit TV. I toyed with showing him something I’d written but chickened out at the last minute.

Something weird happened today actually – I read something on wordpress that reminded me of my mother (over on’ Jo Was Here’ – please go check her out) so I knocked out an email to dear mama. When she hadn’t replied after twenty minutes I neurotically called her and she informed me that she had literally just escaped death. A runaway car had mounted the pavement and missed her by mere inches whilst she was walking the dog. She was a total nervous wreck, still on the pavement, I could even hear her shaking over the phone. This is especially weird because I had a very long and very involved dream last night that I was trying to save my mother from nuclear fall-out. London was in ruins and it was just me and her, picking through the wreckage, and I woke up with this unimaginable fear of anything happening to her. Horrible. And to think, she was just inches away from apocalypse. I told Toscar all of this when he came in, and in his own inimitable style he asked me ‘so where the fuck was I in this dream? Vapour-fucking-rized? Very nice.’

Must dash, wet boy emerging.


One thought on “poor mama

  1. Wow!!
    Your poor mum, but lucky… shoot!

    Ooh, thanks for the shoutout, I’m blushing.

    Enjoy the wet boy! đŸ˜‰

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