Obviously, he didn’t know what doubled CDs meant.
“I care,” I told him. “I have this same CD. How wil we know which one’s yours and which one’s mine?” Mace sat back and put the sole of his foot against the edge of my coffee table.
“Who cares which one’s yours and which one’s mine?” My eyes bugged out right before I said, “I care.”
“Why?”
“Because I do. Because it’s a CD. Because CDs are sacred.”
“It’s the same CD,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but I bought mine at Twist and Shout during my Journey phase and Twist and Shout is gone now. I was with my old band when I bought it. At my demand, we played
‘Wheel in the Sky’ like, every night. I loved everything Journey. Even their power bal ads. I hate power bal ads.
But Journey’s power bal ads kick… fucking… ass.
‘Faithful y’, ‘Open Arms’. Those bal ads rock.”
“So, if we find we’re doubled up on CDs, we’l sel mine on eBay.”
I made a choking noise then spluttered, “What?” Mace was watching me closely perhaps wondering if I needed an intervention.
Then he repeated, saying the words slowly this time,
“We’ve got any of the same CDs, we’l sel mine on eBay.” I threw my hands up in the air. “You can’t just sell your CDs on eBay, especial y if we’ve doubled up. If we’re doubled up then they serve a dual purpose. First, they’re backup CDs in case something goes wrong with one and second, they’re material evidence that we should be together because we like the same music. Everyone knows that!”
He shook his head, the expression on his face looking like he didn’t know whether to smile or to scowl.
Then he suggested, “If you want to mark the CDs, mark your CDs.”
I gasped then said, “I’m not marking my CDs. I don’t want marks on my CDs. The covers either.” I put in the last as an important afterthought.
He took in a deep breath and I could tel this was an effort at patience before he tried, “Then mark mine.”
“You mark yours.”
“Kitten, I don’t have time to mark my CDs and I don’t have any f**kin’ desire to fight with you about this.” Uh-oh.
Were we fighting?
Fighting didn’t factor in with my War against Mace’s Demons. In fact, fighting would be highly detrimental to my overal Strategy.
“We’re not fighting. We’re discussing,” I told him.
“Discussions between a man and a woman don’t include the woman putting her hands on her hips. The minute that happens, it’s a fight. And you started this with your hands on your hips,” Mace told me.
“I did not,” I snapped but I was worried that I did.
“You did,” he returned.
I glared at him. “Wel , I was putting your shit away. You could help.”
“Brody was briefing me on what he’s finding on my father. He’s coasting on the fumes of seventeen six packs of Red Bul and no sleep for forty-two hours. He’s doin’
deep hacks, al of them highly il egal and some of what he’s finding pretty f**kin’ useful. Sorry I couldn’t interrupt the brief to help you hang clothes.”
Oh dear.