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Normal (and the Date Proposal)

Sister is here. It's her eyes -- they look normal. Healthy. Thoughtful. Full of life, dare I say? I like her like this. 

She came this morning, bearing lattes and donuts from a bakery near my house. I happily accepted, but Diana -- still here from last night's man-dishing fest -- declined and got the hell out of Dodge. Diana doesn't like my sister; she thinks she's as toxic as a moldy basement in July. And she can be. But I think this weekend is going to be fine. I'm going to be here for her. I'm going to be a doting little sister. I'm going to be happy. And so will she. 

 In other news: I checked my email, and He has sent me a "Date Proposal" for next Friday.

"How about we go to __________, have the duck and end up looking out at the city below from you know where. I'd like to do it again. Use that same shower gel, please.

And he couldn't tell me this at work, face to face? 

What the fuck are we doing here? 

I've yet to reply.

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