The Bloody Doors Off

Well, Paul… have the loons stopped screaming?

I get it now.

Took me bloody long enough.

I can be quick to anger, and slow to act.

We are in a town so small, Antman would trip over it.*

(*That one’s a thinker.)

A car will pass by intermittently. On a good afternoon, you’ll see a fishing boat or someone water skiing.

Okay. The roads are bendy. That’d take getting used to.

We’d need to up our training with Maisie who, if you blink, she will run down the stairs to the lake, crossing that bendy road. And when you call her back, she trots. Because she knows.

But she doesn’t bark at random noises. A nearby dog made a ruckus the other day, and it didn’t faze her.

(Reminder: look up ‘can eating moths be harmful to dogs? And how many is too many?’}

We’ve had discussions. Mapping out a game plan that culminates with us getting out of Dodge for sunnier shores.

I’ve always been onboard. My family have moved away from the city. I can freelance remotely from anywhere. It’s not like I’d have to go to town to pick up my cheques.

But it felt like a vague concept, a writing prompt that you haven’t fleshed out yet.

Tonight, the Story of Us sprang from my fingertips (metaphorically) and I fell in love with it.

When the time comes.

When we’re ready.

And we’re hiring people to pack for us, hon.