Earlier in the day, I was so exhausted.
By the time Cathy and I crawled in bed, however, I'd turned giddy because I was going back to London and Berlin soon, because Cathy has a feather bed mattress AND memory foam (Note to self: !!!) and because we were having such a good time talking.
"I was so tired," I said, "And now I can't sleep. I'm too excited about talking!"
"I know," she said, "this is what's called pillow talk."
"Totally," I agreed.
She asked me if I wanted a sleeping pill to try to calm down. We went back and forth on whether to take a sleeping pill or not and finally agreed to. She got the pills from the bathroom and I noticed her hair as she came back in the bedroom.
When we met up that afternoon her hair was pulled back with little clips and looked elegant and upswept, classic. She took the clips out later and the pieces fell forward into a short boy cut. Now it was all smooth and puffy and she'd managed to morph into a middle-aged Montessori teacher AKA a lesbian and/or ex-nun.
She handed me a pill and glass of water and got back under the covers and I said, "Dude, look at us."
We both had on glasses and had moisturized and smeared Vaseline on our lips and held books in our hands which we weren't reading due to our pillow talk.
"We are so in our thirties right now," Cathy said.