The Inevitable

It was bound to happen sometime. That much sex can’t occur on the far side of the wardrobe without some unwitting person eventually stumbling through to find oh-so-much more than Mr. Tumnus and Turkish Delight. And I play the role of unwitting stumbler so very well. Of course, I knocked, and there was the inevitable tense silence (unfortunately misinterpreted by yours truly), the inevitably ambiguous reply (“Hello?”), the inevitable fractional opening of the door, followed by the inevitable slow motion sequence where one fraction of a second is stretched into one million inevitable frames of awkwardness that plastered themselves all over my retina like the photo collage hanging in the downstairs bathroom. Inevitable mumbled apologies from within and without Narnia, inevitable rapid blinking, as if that could interrupt the transfer of images just viewed to short term (or long term, god forbid) memory. Return to impregnated silence from beyond the wardrobe. Glad to know that the mood-kill of me didn’t last long.

In other news, last night, hanging over the apex of the roof, there was an ice ring around the perfectly full, circular moon.