Must Be Strong

Sven received an email from an old Coast Guard buddy about a month ago and ever since then he has been acting very strange.  He’s been on Facebook.  I don’t know why, because he only has one friend on Facebook and it’s the same guy that sent him that email a month ago.  Sven reads the Facebook message from that guy through his notification on email which takes him to Facebook.  Days later he laboriously and I mean as in labor pains, laboriously, like I don't remember my password and now I have to go through all of that shennanigans, laboriously, logs into Facebook, only to read the same message. So then we end up having conversations like this. “Sven, maybe you should request some more friends on Facebook.” “Why?” “So that you have more than one friend on Facebook.” “I don’t want a bunch of Facebook friends.” “Well you don’t have to have a bunch of Facebook friends, but you might like Facebook more if you had more than one friend.” “I don’t want more than one friend on Facebook.  I don’t think it's fun anyway.” “That’s because you only have one friend.” Besides these weird conversations, he has been lifting weights, doing Pilates, reading a book about strengthening butt muscles and swinging his golf club in the living room.  He drags the long carpet in from the hallway, lays it down in front of the T.V. which is tuned in to the golf channel.  He stands there and swings with Steve Stricker.  No he's not that kind of a swinger, I’m talking about his golf swing.  The sound of the golf channel is standard here. Sven said that it came with the package of channels that he got for a glorious price after wheeling and dealing on the phone a few years back when he was laid up, and if he were to cancel the golf channel he would have to cancel all of the movie channels too.  "Oh, please."  Anyway, when he is done practicing his golf swing he doesn't put the club back in the bag or the carpet back in the hall, so then naturally, Hunter thinks that special ruway rug must be for him and he wanders over  and lays on it. If I were the fussy type, this kind of thing would drive me crazy.  You know, having a long Indian styled carpet piece lying two feet away from a Vincent Van Gogh-ish sun flower rug that it definitely does not match, golf clubs stuck between winter coats, with boots, hats, skis and snow shoes sitting across from them, a butt exercise book, (well that can stay, even Mai Mai likes that) a Pilates mat, coffee cups scattered all over the place in various states of being finished and of course the ever loving YELLOW GLOVES that will be under foot until I do something drastic with them in the summer.  Fortunately, I have remained calm about the situation, because I'm not the fussy type.  I have however developed an unexplainable chronic twitching on my left eyelid. You see, Sven is going to Myrtle Beach in May.  He’s been invited to join a golf tournament with his old golf team mates from the Coast Guard Academy.  He hasn’t seen any of them since he was a kid and they all marched in Richard, as in Nixon’s, inaugural parade.  I must be strong.  This is important to Sven.  It’s okay that his golf stuff is out of the basement three months earlier than usual and they are gettting mixed up with the winter shit.  And it's okay that there is always a golf club leaning against the T.V. or next to the stove.  It's all good. [one_half][/one_half] [one_half_last][/one_half_last] The other day I came home from work and I could see that Sven had been doing some dry wall mudding,  lots of book work, Pilates, reading of the exercise book, lifting of weights and swinging of golf clubs.  He'd eaten heated left overs for lunch and for some reason that I will never understand, he’d been walking in a zigzag pattern, sort of a figure eight kind of a thing, with Hunter on his tail, for several laps through the kitchen, into the living room, and around the wood stove.  The white salty residue from his boots told that little story and the rest of the house told the rest.     Must be strong. Just for the record, if Sven's ass ends up looking like the one on that book cover, he isn't going anywhere.