Every 2nd Counts

My Dear Princess Normal,

I saw you on the street today. At least I thought I did before I remembered that I am no longer in Edinburgh.

This lady was running for the bus. She was about your height with dark hair, but the thing that convinced me was her big jacket which just about swallowed her up.

And then I realised it was not you, but I didn't feel too sad about it. This is because today was a 2nd Monday and you always call me on the 2nd Monday.

You will be unsurprised to hear that I prepare for these occasions. I charge my phone and make dinner nice and early and change the cat-boxes so that I don't have to chat to you while wrangling cat-turds. I get distracted far too easily and could find myself turfing my phone into the rubbish and attempting to speak into a jobbie.

Our call today was extra-special. This is because I got to open my birthday-box of goodies from you which had just arrived. I know you think I get over-excited, but you need to understand I do not CARE if the box is late. I do not CARE what is in the box. It is all about the mere fact that you were thinking of me in Scotland and put the box together and put thought and effort into it. Really, the box could contain a poo and I would not mind.

Caveat: Please do not poo in a box and send it to me. No, I'm serious. Pull those drawers back up this instant.

The contents of the box were brilliant. Cazza loves her extra-chocolately biscuits and I was really very touched by the ginger biscuits. Best of all was the Zealandia walk of course. I told Cazza about it later. 

"Sounds great," she said. "Enjoy."

She is NOT a walker.

Cazza said all she could hear while we were on the phone was uproarious laughter and me choking on the tail-end of my cold. Sadly that's pretty much all I could remember of our chat as well. I remember you told me about your big weekend, and barbed-wire on willies and a narrow escape from a judgey woman. And you did make me laugh until I choked when you called me, "The Pooooocatcherrrrrr...." with a flourish.

It is entirely possible we talk about poo too much. By the way.

So I was in a good mood after that, and happily chattered to Cazza, giving her my fortnightly debrief. And here I am much later, still happy.

I miss you every day, you know. Every day except every second Monday. 

S.