My father and his girlfriend arrive tomorrow. I spent all of today at work, and all of this evening cleaning my apartment. In between, I bought an extra pillow and a new set of sheets. I fully intend to bill my father for the purchase.
A noticeably dark sense of humour has come over me the last couple of days. For example, when my father announced that he was coming with his girlfriend, I almost replied, “Oh, you are so identifying mom's body!” As he continued speaking, I silently planned how I would strategically delay my arrival in Toronto in order to ensure this outcome: by having a couple of beers at the train station, possibly, or by doing a bit of shoe shopping while en route to the morgue.
I am also plotting the moment when I will ask my father for a pony. I am quite certain he will have no idea what I mean, as neither equestrianism nor daughter-bribing is a common pursuit among the peasant class, but I imagine I’ll get a kick out of it just the same.
Or maybe I’ll just greet her by exclaiming “Mommy!” and then give her a great big hug.
Patience, Vila, patience...