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and to all, a good night
Both of the roomies have fucked off to visit other people for Christmas Eve this year, which is perfectly fine with me as it meant that it's just me and T (and the dog Tribble and also five cats) tonight. We each got to open one gift--I got T a set of 23 and Me DNA test kits for the both of us, on the (completely correct) theory that they would like to play with the raw data and plot, and T got me a fondue set and everything it needed to run a lovely fondue dinner for the two of us.
I have. I have a lot of feelings about the fondue set. Really, really strong ones--because my undergraduate PI, whose lab I was in for two years and whose lab I still miss in a weirdly raw and visceral way... she used to do a raclette or a fondue lab night twice a year, around Halloween and around the end of the spring semester, and we would all gather at her house and eat cheese and talk and just be together in a way that would never, ever, ever happen in my current lab.
I have wanted to do that in the vague future for a good long time now, and T knew this, and the sneaky bastard went ahead and bought me a lovely gas-powered fondue set, the kind that is built to last and make a family with. And then they casually brought up that a cherished childhood tradition of theirs was Christmas Eve fondue, because it made everyone get their shit together and come together and be. Just like that.
Asshole. (I love them.)
So I am full of good mead and good cheese, and I have a small orange purring cat on my lap, and I am rereading this deeply satisfying and comforting Christmas-themed Daredevil fic, and I am very, very content indeed.
(I mean, if the cat would quit washing my hands as I type, that would be Best Of All. But Dent, when he was smaller and I was adjusting to his stubbornness, reacted to my dousing my entire head with bitter apple by spitting and making terrible faces and getting even more determined to wash my head in the night, so I have more or less given up trying to fight him off by now. So failing that, I am taking comfort in his warm, soft, furry belly.)
This is about my mood tonight.
I have. I have a lot of feelings about the fondue set. Really, really strong ones--because my undergraduate PI, whose lab I was in for two years and whose lab I still miss in a weirdly raw and visceral way... she used to do a raclette or a fondue lab night twice a year, around Halloween and around the end of the spring semester, and we would all gather at her house and eat cheese and talk and just be together in a way that would never, ever, ever happen in my current lab.
I have wanted to do that in the vague future for a good long time now, and T knew this, and the sneaky bastard went ahead and bought me a lovely gas-powered fondue set, the kind that is built to last and make a family with. And then they casually brought up that a cherished childhood tradition of theirs was Christmas Eve fondue, because it made everyone get their shit together and come together and be. Just like that.
Asshole. (I love them.)
So I am full of good mead and good cheese, and I have a small orange purring cat on my lap, and I am rereading this deeply satisfying and comforting Christmas-themed Daredevil fic, and I am very, very content indeed.
(I mean, if the cat would quit washing my hands as I type, that would be Best Of All. But Dent, when he was smaller and I was adjusting to his stubbornness, reacted to my dousing my entire head with bitter apple by spitting and making terrible faces and getting even more determined to wash my head in the night, so I have more or less given up trying to fight him off by now. So failing that, I am taking comfort in his warm, soft, furry belly.)
This is about my mood tonight.