this morning #840.

this morning, mid-emotional moment, it struck me just how much i spoke with my hands. pointing. pounding my fist into my palm. waving things away. i couldn’t say a word without flailing at the air. vaffanculo, italian stereotypes! i linked my fingers & set my hands in my lap. below the table. let my words do the talking. when i say the words “i love this fucking breakfast lasagna, sheila,” i really don’t need to point at my clean plate. she sees it. i used “fucking” as an adjective. fuggetaboutit. she gets it. no need to drive my lasagna love home with a chef’s kiss. maybe if i learned to speak with my words first, i could finally convince her to finally move in & make me breakfast lasagna every morning.