Bill got home Saturday evening, which was lovely. I mean, I can handle being alone during the day just fine, but by the time bedtime rolls around I’m all lonely and anxious and shit. So, one night away = tons better than two.
Unbeknownst to me, he’d set the alarm clock to go off at 7:00 on Sunday morning. So when it started buzzing I was all, WTF? Is it Monday? He hopped up and turned off the alarm and responded to my mutter with, “Time to get up!” So I groaned, and stuffed my head under the pillow until the scent of coffee came wafting in from the kitchen. I got up, went into the living room, and sipped and read my book while he sipped and read his paper.
We showered and got ready – I was going to wear flip-flops, but Bill said I should wear something more comfortable on my feet. Which is when I started to get the drift that he had Sunday Plans. Drift was solidified when he told me to grab the camera. We drove over to The Good Egg for breakfast – I must say, they had more than their fair allotment of screaming children yesterday morning. Seemed NOBODY under the age of three really felt like a nutritious breakfast. So, we dealt with that with patience that waned by the minute, then busted back out into the 70-degree, breezy, sunny day.
Bill had me choose between the Desert Botanical Garden and the Phoenix Zoo. Both sounded appealing to me, but since we’ve been to the garden more recently, I called zoo. Upon reflection, if we wanted to avoid further exposure to shrieking children, I probably should have went with the DBG. Kids will be kids – I get that. Outdoors on a sunny day with lions and tigers and bears and monkeys and giraffes and elephants and SUGAR tends to get them wound up. It just seemed to me that parents were being particularly indifferent to their children’s misbehavior yesterday. After the twentieth time that I had to stop short or else bowl over an oblivious two foot tall micro-human, while their parent stared dully in another direction, I started to get a little impatient. And we had to leave the wolf exhibit before our patience fled completely, because a father and daughter were keeping up a CONSTANT “conversation” with the wolves – “Howl at the wolves, honey! Awww-ooooo! Arrrwww-oooooooo! Howl at the wolves, I bet they can understand us! Wooooooooooooo!” FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. Once was cute, twice was inevitable, five hundred times was crazy-making.
But! Sunny day! Hand in hand with my love! And meercats! It was hard to be in a bad mood over very much of anything, really. Even though we were surrounded by a crowd of Captain Obvious. You know, those people who keep up a running commentary and point out BLINDINGLY OBVIOUS details about their surroundings. “Oh, look at the toucan! Look at his beak! His beak is red! He’s a bird! Birds are pretty!” “Look at the elephant! He’s big! He’s eating treats! He likes his treats!” “Look at the giraffe! He can reach the top leaves on the trees! He has a long tongue! Bet he needs a good chiropractor, huh? Har! Har!”
Also, the zoo used to sell beer, and now it doesn’t. EPIC FAIL, ZOO. We would have been much more tolerant of humanity if we could walk around with brew.
So. We’d worked up a powerful thirst by the time we did the circuit. Back in the truck, we drove over to Pier 54 for a couple of drinks. We were enjoying the outdoor patio with views over the lake, when the inevitable Drunk Guy stumbled over and started up a slurred and incomprehensible conversation with us. He wanted to look at my camera (I had the new lens and hood on it, and I guess it looks pretty impressive – it got quite a few comments from folks we encountered throughout the day). I held it up. He went to take it from me, and I pulled it back a little. He was all, “Aww, I just wanted to see it for a second!” Little does he know, the only other person I trust to hold my camera is Bill. Anyway. He muttered something about having to go “pee-pee” (niiiice) and shuffled back off again. We took that as our opportunity to leave.
The Chevrolet dealership from which we’ve purchased almost every vehicle in the past fifteen years was hosting a Camaro car show, so of course we had to stop by and take pictures. Bill will probably regale you in the comments as to why, exactly, everything was so very Man Show Testosteroney. I just kept saying, “Pretty!” and Bill kept rolling his eyes at me. I don’t know what a blower is, or why it would be So Very Cool to have one. I’m sorry. I could make some lewd jokes and wisecracks if you’d like, though.
So, after the car show we went back home and got the motorcycle, then rode over to Sandstone for a couple of beers. We split a plate of most excellent chicken fajitas and shot the shit with the other regulars that were there. We finished up the evening back at home with a brief visit from Robert and Joy, messing around with Cheeto and taking pictures, and DVR’ed episodes of “The Pacific” and “Life”. We mourned the fact that Monday came back around again and snuggled and snoofied at each other and wished aloud that we could spend every waking moment with each other.
Scoff all you want, but by the time the lights were out and we were in bed, expressing to each other how much fun the day was, I suddenly became panic-stricken. I imagined the day when we wouldn’t be together. I thought of that day, sometime in the murky future, where one of us would come home to an empty house. I imagined never hearing Bill’s voice again, never hearing him holler for me as he busts through the front door. Never smelling the back of his neck again. And I started to cry, for fear of that hopefully EONS in the future day. It’s tough, being so in love with a person that the mere thought of being without them sucks the very breath from your lungs.
Bill held me, I got myself together, and we fell asleep entwined.
It was the best day ever, despite the meltdown at the end, and my favorite way to spend a Sunday.