"Hi - am I audible?" The fucking phrase of the pandemic. The second I hear his voice, I realize it's real. Shit I'm not ready for this. I get this sick twist of greasy fear in my gut. What the fuck am I doing.
"Yes, yes I can hear you. This has to be the most used phrase in the last two years haha!" Holy shit he's not wearing a shirt. Who the fuck video calls without a shirt!
"I hope you don't mind I'm was about to sleep, had a long day" he gestures to his abs and gives what I'm sure he thinks is a panty-incinerating smirk, except he doesn't quite know I'm pretty immune to cocky smiles. Been there done that my friend, panty dropping smiles lead to sex to marriage to baby and a divorce and I've had a decade of single momming to get over that shit. That would probably work on the younger girls that use this app. Shit I could never compete with 20 yr old waistlines.
"Yeah I'm pretty beat myself. Had fucking meetings till 10pm" Bastards couldn't have scheduled something earlier in their day to accomodate our time zone. Dear lord he's making bedroom eyes at me.
"Maybe you need to have some fun to help you relax" What the fuck is wrong with this dude.
"Haha what can you offer" You're some fucking rando off the internet dude. Can you chill the fuck out.
It's my fault. Momentary horniness / PMS led to downloading that fucking online dating app, and that has led to this. Serves me right, what the fuck was I expecting? Witty repartee? A conversation about work? Or - God forbid - small talk about the weather?
And then suddenly - "Mama I'm not feeling ...BHYWAAHRKK" Holy shit baby R has turned up behind me and projectile vomits three-hour-old half-digested pepporoni pizza. He aims away from the carpet to the wood floor Good boy!
I grab him by the shoulders and aim him towards the bathroom, right before the second "BHYWAAHRKK" as his little body retches. I've already turned and grabbed two wet wipes stored on the counter for just such occasions, and get to the mess before it festers. Shit where are the newspapers when you need them. I grab my sanitary pad, and mop up the liquidy goop, and shove it all into the bathroom bin just in time for the third BHYWAAHRKK
"There there baby, you'll be ok." I try to sound reassuring, patting R with my left hand while my right reaches for the dettol surface cleaner behind him. I frantically spritz the bedroom floor and throw some tissues and wipe the floor with my foot, turning to get a better look as R heaves for the fourth - and usually final - time.
Phew. all done. R and I wash our hands, and he lets me blow his nose and wash his face without complaint.
Somewhere between tucking R back in to bed, installing a vomit bucket within close distance, and getting ice cubes for hydration, I suddenly remember. R - despite being miserable - turns and looks at me wondering why I'm shrieking with laughter, standing in the middle of semi-dark room.
