Love

  Over dinner, I stared into her eyes. Cold, emotionless. She stared back for a while, nibbling at her food.

 "We never talk any more." I said. What I meant was that she never talked any more. I still talked.

 "And we don't go out. I don't mind curling up in front of the fire, but we have to go out sometime. We never see anyone any more."

 She said nothing back. I was unsurprised but disappointed.

 "And you only show me affection when you want something. You showed the postman more affection last week."

 Still nothing.

 "And when you go to the toilet in the garden, I'm glad you cover it up, but could you be more careful in future? You dug up all my petunias.

 She meowed back at me.

 I smiled. It was progress.

 "You're a good girl really." I said, patting her on the head. "I just wish you wouldn't scratch the furniture."

Winter-based shit was going down.

Ok, let's face it - they weren't
a great example of the joys of Marriage. Image via WikipediaOn the trees, snowdrops glistened. All around us, romantic, winter-based shit was going down. Max, wrapped in an over-sized scarf, jacket and padded hot-pants, looked particularly morose in the winter morn.

 
 "Why did things not work out with Maxine?" He asked at length.

 "You kidnapped her, remember." I said.

  "Well. Yes, so we weren't perfect. But you know, I'd hoped we might last. I just want someone to go the distance with. You know, like that couple... Hitler and Eva Braun."

  I double-took. It wasn't hilariously over-the-top. I just looked at him, looked away, then looked back suddenly in shock. Ok, Max was obviously just mistaken. But still...

  "Hitler... Hitler and Eva Braun? They didn't really last Max. They're dead, for one thing."

  "Dead? Oh no, when did this happen? Do people know... Oh, the children! What about the children?"

  "Yea. It's a pretty well-known story. They killed themselves not long after getting married, for one thing. And there weren't any children. Are you sure you're thinking about Hitler here?"

  "Pretty sure, yea. On no, wait a second... Prince Charles and Diana! That was who I was thinking of!"

  I nodded sadly. I wasn't sure where he got these ideas from. I mean, I'm not Prince Charles' biggest fan, but he's no Hitler. I retraced the conversation and realised Max was still not exactly on Love Boulevard.

  "Max... They got divorced."

  "What? But, at least they've still got their health?"

The snow fell around us. I'd upset Max enough for one day, so I just smiled and nodded. After a while, some penguins arrived and frolicked happily. In real life, Penguins aren't overly romantic, of course, but these were Disnified. In front of us, they did little to cheer Max up, forming budding romances and entering monogamous relationships. Above us, the disimbodied voice of Morgan Freeman tried to confort Max, but it was no good, and he cried all through that cold, winter morn.

 

A story containing hilarious innocent misunderstandings

Max, if he displayed more emotion.

Image via Wikipedia

"How'd you like your Christmas present then?"
" Oh, it was great, thanks for that!" Max replied, happily.
I don't know why I'd asked, it was obvious Max liked his Superman costume. For one thing, he was wearing it now. And we were on a pretty busy street.
 "Yea, and... Oh God! Quick, in here!"

 Grabbing me, Max dragged us into a newsagents, where he hid behind a small pile of magazines and peaked outside with fear.
 "What is it?"
 "It's, what's his name? Clive! You know, Maxine's father?"
 "Oh... Yea."
 "You know how he is - he could never stand the sight of me, even when I was with Maxine. And well, since I stopped seeing her, he's been just insufferable whenever I run into him."
 I looked at Max dispassionately. Of course, Max was right. There had been a lot of problems relating to Maxine, and they were not limited to the name similarity. For one thing, Maxine wasn't Max's ex. She was a woman he kidnapped from the bus station.

 Now, in all fairness to Max, it had been an accident - he's gone to pick up his mother. With anyone else, of course, this would be no excuse - while Maxine was a 27-year old fitness instructor of Japanese decent, Max's mother was an 87-year old, wheelchair-bound obese woman from Hull. The differences, one would think, were obvious. But not to Max, who simply believed his mother, a lovely dear who was easily confused, had become easily confused. Stuffing her into his boot and driving off at high speed had, of course, furthered the illusion he was a kidnapper. But, again, the back seat of his car was occupied by livestock, and he was in a rush. So - at least from Max's point of view - the whole thing was innocent.

 Of course, demanding a ransom had been a mistake. But that was just unfortunate - Max, at the time inspired by a bolstered ego (No doubt because his mother, confused as she was, referred to him as a "handsome Prince"), had written to all the fathers in town, offering himself as a potential husband to their daughters, for a dowry of £100,000. The note, poorly written, had simply been confused for a ransom.

  And that is why Clive was rarely happy to see Max. Of course, laid out like this, you can surely see how a series of innocent mistakes were hilariously misconstrued, but it becomes clear how innocent Max really was.

 Of course, if you want to arrest him anyway, I won't stop you. Hell, why not form a lynch mob? They always looked fun in Westerns...

Something about coffee. I was in a coffeeshop

And, to be honest, it seemed kind of boring. I hadn't seen Max for a few days, he'd said something about "wanting to see other blogs", whatever that meant. So I'd gone out for coffee. Don't get me wrong, of course, it was nice to get up in the morning and live without fear. For instance, I could shower without the fear of Max - desiring efficiency - having electrified the shower. I looked around the coffee shop, noticing for the first time the rows of fish tanks that filled the back wall. Finishing my coffee, I went for a closer look.
 The tanks, varying in size and shape, were all full of typical fish decorations, little divers and gold chests and castles and the like. Full of water, air filters filtered away, little pebbles covered the bottom. But no fish. That was the interesting thing. Intrigued by this obvious flaw in an otherwise flawless display of the life aquatic, I enquired about the fishlessness of the young coffee-server.
 Nearby, a newspaper obscured the features of an onlooker. As I enquired about fish, please imagine the camera panning to him. On the word, "fish" the newspaper is quickly pulled down so the onlistener can listen better (As it is commonly known that newspapers impair hearing).
 Unseen by me however, the mysterious stranger followed me out. Disappointed that no-one could tell me where the fish were, I planned to go home. I take fish based disappointments hard. At least, I thought I did. But, compared to some people, they bothered me no more than the genocide of strangers bothers people who can't see it.
 Following me into a nearby alley, the stranger quickly covered the distance between us.
 "So," He called out, "Coming into the cafe like you're the big fish around here, aren't we?"
 I paused. I wasn't sure if that was a rhetorical question or not. I wasn't even sure what he meant.
 "Wanting to make a big splash, weren't we?" He enquired further.
 Clearly, he wanted an answer. Furthermore, I assumed he was one of those people who used "we" as an impersonal pronoun when addressing someone else. Or maybe not, I'm not entirely sure I remember what a personal pronoun is properly. But you get the idea. He certainly didn't mean "we" in the sense I would use it anyway. I certainly had no intention of going 'round, making splashes with this man.
 He had picked me up now, gripping my collar with two Popeye-sized fists and holding me to the wall.
 I decided to reply. Cliches seemed appropriate:
 "I have no idea what you're talking about!" I replied. Well, kinda squealed. In a manly way, of course.
 "Really? So I suppose we just 'happened' to wonder where the fish were, while we were enjoying our morning coffee. Perhaps we have nothing to do the biggest fish kidnap this century!"
 He looked rather smug now, as if he'd made and proved a point at me. Well, maybe he had. I still didn't really know what was happening. I struggled on, speaking as articulately as possible, in the form of cliched, made-for-TV dialogues:
 "So, you're saying someone kidnapped the fish. I'm innocent. Innocent, I tells you!"
 "Hmm, maybe so. We don't look like the fish-kidnapping sort, do we? We look more like a wet fish!"
His use of 'we' was getting annoying now, as was his use of fish-related phrases. But he was a big guy, so I tried to keep him calm.
 "Who are you anyway?" I asked.
 "Isn't it obvious?" He replied. "I'm the marine biologist."
I paused, taking a look at the bulging muscles on the man, the crew-cut, the tank-top.
 "When you say 'marine biologist'?..." I hesitantly asked.
 "Well..." He replied. "I'm a biologist. I'm also in the marines."
Yes. It was pretty obvious now he pointed it out. Of course, I could have taken him down there and then. You know, if he fell and concussed himself, I could have taken him no problem. Instead, I decided to spare him and play along. He sent me home. He told me he'd be in touch soon. Someone had to deliver the ransom, then he'd get the puffer fish, he said. I think 'puffer fish' was an insulting term for the kidnappers, but I don't really know. I went home.
 I miss Max.