Gary has been Extrapolated or something to Primo status at the Royal Galactic Order Of The Ruminating Buffaloes. I have no idea what this means, but apparently it's good. At this rate he will be mayor of Meekatharra before long. He is goodnaturedly tolerant of my juvenile references to the Buffaloes and the Masons - that's my Gaz, patient and able to see the funny side of things. On the other hand, it could be because he is an alien reptile and simply putting up with my bizarre human behaviour while using me as camouflage in the lead-up to the Grand Feasting. I asked him if he and the Masons are really ravening carnivorous slit-eyed alien reptiles bent on crushing humankind like insects and he said "No." But that's what they would say, right? So that just proves it.
But in human mode he is just right for me and OH MY GOD WE'RE MOVING IN TOGETHER. I just realised it. I mean, as in actually really realising it. Forget about any fancy schmancy partnership contracts or sitting down calmly to discuss finances, I want to know if he expects to be sharing a sock drawer, or - oh my god I can barely think about it - putting the tomato sauce on the wrong shelf in the fridge. What domestic horrors await me?
At least there's time to ease into it - I'm not moving in until he's got the fireplace, gas oven and hot water working properly. I'll be working on the garden & general compound tidy up while mostly staying at my place, so we'll probably just wake up one morning and realise that we're both living there, happily sitting in front of the fire, admiring Gary's new teeth (they arrive next month).
I have several great stories to tell but need some free time to air my brain out - it's all go go go this week cleaning up at my place, trying to hire garden labour and covering various emergency shifts at the hostel while finishing off media releases and setting Smokey on to the mice and lizards who have taken over the shed. They have been using the bus water hoses as a kind of Maze N Fun tube racetrack.
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