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).