The Tragedy of TAS

*** continued from previous post ***


Mom and I obediently took our seats. The bike has great seats, but the cushions on the chairs felt like heaven. As you know, I suffer from TAS. That's right I said it. I have ‘Tiny Ass Syndrome’ wherein - well to be blunt - I have no ass. So as I'm sure you'll understand the cushions were nirvana to my tush.

Leeza poured water into the tumblers on the table. "Cook has your plates warming. Can I start you off with a drink?"

As you know, your mom doesn't drink. I believe it to be a character flaw, but that's beside the point. However, for the briefest of moments I saw her contemplating takin' to the bottle. This would be bad. You have no idea how hard it is to try and ride with a drunk on the back of your bike. Don't ask me how I know this, just trust me when I say they have a tendency to fall off at the worst times, and if they survive they get all lippy.

"Water will be fine for me," Mom says, saving her journey into alcoholism for another day.
Leeza looks at me and raises her eyebrows. What I want is a keg of Guiness. Make that 2 kegs of Guiness with a fifth of Glenlivet as a chaser. What I settle for is a cup of coffee.

Alcohol, for me anymore, is much more enjoyable as a concept rather than an actual consumable. Much like when you're sitting around with your friends and you say, "Hey, you know what would be fun? We should all just take off for the mountains this weekend. We could rent a cabin, each one of us could be responsible for a meal, we could play board games and strum guitars and talk about the meaning of life. What say you?" And everyone agrees that that is EXACTLY what you should all do but each one of you is thinking "But first, I'll need a bullet to the brain."

Without further ado Leeza disappears back into the kitchen.

Mom and I sit in silence. Reflecting.

Protip: That's never good.

I'm sure in the light of day the view from the dining room is wonderful. Everything in Canada is wonderful. Every-Frackin'-Thing. But in the darkness, all we could see was our own reflections. How's that for symbolism?

We sat there, in silence, and the statue in the corner coughed, then walked into the library. I nearly jumped out of my skin. What would animate a statue like that? There was dark, dark magic afloat here, no doubt about it. I would need to be wary.
After a few minutes Leeza returns with my coffee, two salads that look like they've stepped off the staging table at the Food Network's 'Let's-Compete-For-The-Most-Ostentatious-Salad-EVER-And-Be-Sure-To-Use-A-Live-Badger!' competition, and a generous portion of what we discover is freshly-baked honey-wheat bread.

*** the journey continues ***