You are just dying to know about the dinner party.

It went fine. I decided that the yellow cashmere sweater set was too.... yellow. So I wore a light blue t-shirt with a pale pink cardigan with jeans. Would be old style east coast preppie if I was wearing chinos. I don't own any chinos. Anyhow, B's old friend that collects things that are not animal heads is interesting. He build the machines for the oboe reed makers in town, so we have mutual friends. Dinner was at his companion's house. She seems nice. The house has many beautiful things, is very neat, and there is a view of the mountains. The food is delicious and heavy on dead animals and fish. Four kinds, I think.

B is worried about his kidney function. It is very slightly high, he says. He wants to know why. I study it a bit. Tuesday I went back out to his place in Forks. Turns out he's related to the vampires out there. You'd think I would have guessed that sooner, but no. For food before I drive the two hours home, he serves halibut and shrimp. Delicious, however.

Yesterday I say, "One of the things that is hard on kidneys is a high protein diet."

"Really?" says B.

"Really. The first thing the renal docs do with someone who is really in kidney failure is a low protein diet. I don't know what you eat most of the time, but the meal with halibut and shrimp got my attention."

"I usually do eat a vegetable."

"Uh-huh." I say. I am serving breakfast. Eggs, bacon and mustard greens fried in bacon grease. And a potato, steamed small cubes. Cholesterol load, here I come!

"Well, I do eat a lot of protein."

"Mmmm-hmm." I am lucky that he doesn't just eat blood. He's only part vampire, not full on. They do live a long time, though, these 1/4 or 1/8 vamps.

"I'll think about it." He is not quite sulking. Damn it, don't ask the professional you are dating a professional question if you are going to sulk about the answer. Whatever. People are crazy.

He also texted me a text from the woman we had dinner with. She said that I'm lovely. Fooled her, didn't I?

Well, people realize that I am weird if they are around me long enough. I have decided that my interior decorator scheme for my house is vintage packrat catlady. This is to deter thieves. When they try to look in the window, the stacks of magazines from the 1970s make them swear and they go elsewhere. They are terrified that they would trip and break their hips. Even the thieves are in their 70s in this town. While I make B breakfast I think with amusement about inviting the man who collects something like animal heads and the darling companion to dinner. Heh. I don't think I have a companion house. I am a mistress, not a companion, and I collect whatever the hell I want in my weird old house. Ok, not that old. 1930. Coming up on 100 years though, not bad for the west coast.

B is acting a bit weird again. I am wondering if lightening strikes twice and he is pregnant again. No reason to test until he starts nesting and that's around eight months. I don't know whether to hope or not. Best not, really.

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