July 5, 2002

This morning, a contractor came to my new apartment to give us an estimate on some work we want done (“we” being my brother and I, who are now roommates). E.S. was over, having spent the night. As soon as the contractor, wily woman that she was, figured out that his relationship to me was not entirely Platonic, she started directing her questions to him, especially since I was clearly a design idiot.

CONTRACTOR to FAUSTUS: “What color are you thinking for the bedroom?”

FAUSTUS: “Um, I don’t really know.”

CONTRACTOR to E.S.: “What do you think? Do you have a favorite color?”

I wanted to seize her by the neck and strangle the life out of her, screaming all the while, “HE IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND HE IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND HE IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND!!!”

Instead, I just smiled broadly at her and decided ice cubes would have a fun vacation in hell before I gave her company the job.

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