In the bookstore, in the laundrymat.




"Would you get mad at me if I told you not to forget to put potatoes in the soup?"
"Yes."
You can't tell Leon what to do when he's cooking. Even if you know he's going to forget something, or if you know he's doing something wrong, you just can't tell him without him getting angry. His excuse is that everything he cooks turns out okay no matter what. My excuse is that one day it won't and if I don't say anything he'll ask me, "Why didn't you say anything?!" and I'll say, "You'd get mad!" and then he would go on about how he wouldn't have gotten mad, but I know that he would have. Because I know how he works.
Amy wants all of us to play music again, with our own songs. It sounds fun and I'll do it, but I'm afraid. What if the only thing we can play well are Talulah Gosh covers? I can't even think about it. It makes me too anxious.
We're taking Leon's mom out for dinner tonight because her birthday is on Sunday. I can never tell if she is especially fond of me, but Leon tells me that she says nice things about me when I'm not around. Once she gave me a card for my birthday with a nice handwritten note about how important I am to Leon and how kind and supportive I have been to him. It was very sweet of her, but also kind of funny. It was as if she were making up for her son. Ah, well. What does it matter?
Later.