i marched to work at top speed today. my face was all blotchy and flushed, my lungs still heaving with frozen air as i lined up the stegosaurus stencils and loaded the toaster with crumbly slices of breakfast bagel..
then there was the gym. body pump. mine felt broken.
a trickle of sweat down my spine and an even pinker face this time, panting back at me from amongst the mirror-ful of glistening foreheads, creased in concentration.
after that some more half hearted striding in one spot, never any closer to the skinny bodies that wiggle on the enormous televisions flashing several feet away.. the irony.
back to work. could barely stand up as eric waved his violent marvel comic heroes back and forth across my vision. 'Then you say 'DIIIIIIE' and knock Spidey into the bolcanic laba' he commands, in his beautifully bizarre accent, far too loud. Nursing my ear, I repeat the line, lacklustre, and with a few extra Vs. No need to bother with the high pitched squeal he adds himself (for maximum super-villain impact) flinging his helmeted head back wildly.
By day he is placid, curious, affectionate, the unwitting outsider as he wobbles a little and obediently takes his medicine. But come 3.30pm, Super Eric does evil brilliantly enough for the both of us.
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