Risotto Wars are Ended

Or so it seems. Téodor's had plenty of opportunities to bring it down around my shoulders lately, but he's just been humming around the house, making non-risotto foods, picking on his guitar, etc. I was out for the weekend, but when I came home I found no evidence of foul play on my bathroom counter, in my pantry, or in my dresser. I just got back from a run and he was baking olive bread. Not a grain of arborio to be seen. He even poured me some Fresca and put a lime in it. Maybe his goofy new Jamie Oliver wardrobe has put him in a cooler frame of mind. He has on these Asics cross-country shoes (the really lightweight ones that are only meant to last like three races) with the cleats removed, these super-roomy white painter's pants, an actual rope belt, and a white thermal undershirt with a kelly green Bruce Lee tshirt over it. Oh, plus this colorful little scarf wrapped completely around his neck. I even think there was some product in his hair, but I tried not to stare too long.

Still, though, he may have an ember or two alive. I've known him to hold a grudge a while. Maybe I'll try to do something nice for him to get him in the "forgive and forget" mode. Philippe told me he was being chatty about a girl he met at Ray's on Friday, maybe I'll be the listening ear for a while (if there's one thing a guy who's freshly in love likes, it's to bend another dude's ear about it).