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Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Mr. Loaf
Today I took a month's load of shirts to the cleaners, braving the wet, wet ice. I'm determined to avoid another cycle of buying shirts because I can't be bothered going to the cleaners. When I arrived back at the apartment, Meat Loaf was standing at the front door with two large suitcases.
BLAMB: What the hell are you doing?
 LOAF: I've come for the room, remember?
BLAMB: There's no room.
LOAF: You said there was a room.
BLAMB: No, I didn't.
LOAF: You said, in your email, "I'm afraid that while there is a room, it is not "spare"."
BLAMB: Right.
LOAF: So, I thought that meant that I could still stay in it.
BLAMB: No, it means there's no room! Besides, you're too late, there's already a couple staying in it.
LOAF: I can share.
And then it hit me like a tonne of well-oiled bricks. If I forced Alice and Quon'dar to share the room with Meat Loaf, it would give them an incentive to find their own place. They'd be out by February!
BLAMB: You'll share?
LOAF: Sure.
BLAMB: Fine, then. But you'll have obligations. We're watching Bachelorette on Monday nights and it's something we're doing to connect as a family, so you're expected to be there.
LOAF: Aw, man, I hate reality tv.
BLAMB: Shut up, Mr. Loaf! That's non-negotiable. And no singing Paradise by the Dashboard Light. I think I've heard that enough for this lifetime.
LOAF: L ... l ... le ... let ... let me sl ...
BLAMB: STOP IT!
LOAF: DAMN!
BLAMB: Okay, you can move your crap in. Alice and Quon'dar are at the Duff, we'll inform them of the accomodation modifications when they get back.
LOAF: Thanks, man! You won't regret this!
BLAMB: I already do.
2:16 PM
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