Meanwhile, Christmas Day and I have to run to town to pick up Stormy. His past couple of scrolls had been bleating protestations that he didn't want to come, was afraid of icy roads, didn't like the drive, was busy, in pain, etc, etc. Nothing like having to put yourself out and then plead with your guest for the pleasure of their company. Anyways, pick him up, drive circles around his neighborhood for half an hour, he's looking to drop off a satchel full of scrolls and gifts to someone, he knows where they live, around here, so in circles again and again until he confesses that - in fact - he doesn't, and so we head out.
I've invited Chris and Ken as well, and taken the liberty of setting up my antique typewriter with a page from my novel half typed inside: "Page 236 Chapter CVXII DUNGEONS OF PLEASURE AND PAIN ... Ken lay against Chris's chest twirling his chest hairs, "lets do that again..." he suggests, "This time YOU be on top..." and so on for half a page.
Ken doesn't show, family plans, but Chris falls for the bait. "Yeah, yeah" I tell him...."I'm big into the homeo-erotica....it's not YOU and KEN, I mean, they're just names..." but he's properly disturbed.
Stormy, meanwhile, sets himself up on the sofa and begins prying out his Xmas contributions. 3 Cans of Tuna. A box of cookies. A sausage roll from 7/11. A large tin of mixed nuts, foil pulled off and then reattached with a rubber band - "to stop them from falling out...you know, the foil is never very secure..."
I empty them into a bowl.
A bunch of salted (and probably licked) chick-peas, a couple of half-eaten cookies, 2 cashews, 3 salt-water toffee's and a silica desiccation packet.
I'm pretty sure this isn't how that can of mixed nuts was supposed to work, but, out here...
Set them on the table for all to enjoy.
Meanwhile, Stormy's unbundling himself, 4 coats, carried and thrown onto the bed, he's getting comfortable on the sofa...
"You wouldn't mind if I used your bath, would you? My back...."
This, it's not an uncommon thing out here, a surprising number of people - myself frequently included, don't have access to running or hot water, a bathtub or shower. But Stormy, Stormy does, and I'm wondering what the fuck he's filled his own tub with, probably those expanding little foam animals you give to kids, or Sea-Monkeys, or god knows what, I know the few times I've been over he's forbidden me to use it.
"I brought my own soap...and after-shave...smell this...it's not the best..."
Run the bath, he checks into it. After a couple of minutes he's calling for help, look at Chris, but Stormy, he's my friend, my problem, and Chris is pretty quick to put it back on me. I shouldn't have started that novel...
It's just his laundry, a big pile, I wouldn't mind - I mean, there is a washer and dryer here? If I did his laundry...
And for sure, he stinks, it's a wretched smell that permeates his apartment, his bags of scrolls, it's intolerable, and so, sure, I'll do the laundry.
He appears, an hour later, virtually unchanged but spritzing himself down with rancid cologne, "You don't happen to have a T-Shirt I could borrow?", quickly followed by "I need some socks", and "When will my clothes be out of the laundry?".
He's heaping absurdity onto absurdity, this taking him on for Xmas, it's preposterous, outrageous, but he's in fine form, enjoying himself, the view, the sofa, getting, I'm afraid, far too comfortable. It's recalling the kids story "If you give a mouse a cookie", I'm going to have to find a copy, rewrite / illustrate a few of the pages and pass it back to him...
Dinner passes and having been regaled with a few too many Stormy stories, all of which I've heard dozens of times before but they're here recanted for Chris's benefit, and Stormy's getting sleepy, "I'll just sleep on the sofa....It's comfortable here...." and bloody hell, NO, we're going back TONIGHT it's been Christmas LONG ENOUGH.
All in all a Very Stormy Christmas.