I am 90% ready for the big move. I have to bag my clothes, pack up the computer and sort through the kitchen’s spice rack with the roomie. I love doing this. I love finding old packets of Jello emblazened with the bored look of Ben Stien, or Survivor Australia endorsed Kraft Dinner wedged so far back in the cupboards above the stove.

Sharkboy and I painted a wall in the new place on Sunday. It was suppose to be a subtle blue moving into the realm of teal but it stopped at sky blue and looked kind of …queer… when it dried but I will hold judgement until the rest of the place is done and the artwork is up. Inbetween coats we went for a walk into my new neighbourhood. What trip to the Danforth would not be complete by walking into the Carrot Common for the latest in health food ironies?

We seperate and wander amongst the health food tonics and tinicures and after a few moments I hear a pert “Ted!” come from Sharkboy. His hand is over his mouth and nose and his eyes are watering. “Smell that!” he says.

He wants me to lift the lid to a heavy jar of white granules labeled “Tired Old Ass Soak Bath Salt”. I do without hesitation and get a blast of eucalyptus and …something else. The nasal passeges clear, the room spins, my eyes pee. He laughs.

“Oh? And why did you even think to sniff a jar full of ‘Old Ass Soak’?” I shoot back.

“You got your snout in there pretty fast,” he smiles.