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Today this woman called our information desk and said, “my son’s band is playing tonight. I want to come see him, but he never answers his phone…..I want to be there. Have you heard anything about his band?”

And I felt so bad for this lady but I’m not in the music scene around here so I had to tell her no, sorry.

Five hours later, I’m hiking and run into a group of guys setting up for some outdoor performance, and as I watch them unload the drums it hits me.

“Hey,” I said, “are y’all in a band?”

They said yeah and smiled and I told them “one of your moms called today. She wants to watch you play, but she can’t get a hold of you. Call your mom.”

And they all pulled out their phones and started discussing whose mom it probably was as they presumably dialed their own.

And now, unless we meet again and recognize each other, that’s who I’ll be forever to those guys–some mysterious courier for mom-messages who came out of the woods and told them their mom called.

I didn’t even tell them why their mom called me. Who am I to their mom?? Nobody even asked. They just took my word for it and called their mothers.

-Replacing his vitimens with poision

- getting her brother to invite him out onto his boat and then killing him and dumping him in the ocean and saying he got drunk and fell off.

- get tboned with him in the passenger seat and then once he was in the hospital theres all kinds of easy ways to kill him like not washing my hands after a poop and then touching his wound casually.

-replacing his drink of choice with moonshine!?

- take him on a hike thats locally notorious for a rapid otter attacking hikers and once he had rabies I could just kill him any ol way and say self defense.

Since 2017, I have only done stuff that I thought was interesting or useful regardless of whether it pays, because we have more than enough money, and despite what billionaires might tell you, there is literally no difference between "more than enough" and "much more than enough."

So I no longer work for money. But in retirement one must keep busy, which is why I have taken on an unpaid gig as the social media intern for a coffee and tea business that donates 100% of its profit to charity.

(ʘ‿ʘ✿) “what you say ‘bout me”

He thinks this must be a joke so he goes to the comments, and sure enough it's absolutely full of people who not only seem to think this spoon is worthy of rating in the first place, but who seem to have very strong opinions on what makes it a good or bad spoon. To Ilya a spoon is a spoon is a spoon. It's absolutely baffling to him that people seem to think the handle looks like it's not weighty enough, or that the shape of the bowl is wrong, or that it's too flat or too square. He opens the playlist of cutlery rating videos because surely this can't be the norm, and sure enough every single one has a comment section full of very strong opinions about how good or bad this normal fucking fork or knife is.

And then a memory returns to him, as he looks over at his peacefully sleeping husband, of Shane moving in and having to get rid of all his cutlery to replace it with his.

"Sorry, I know it's stupid, but yours are really bad to hold, baby. It's literally all I can think about every time I eat here."

And Ilya didn't mind at the time. So Shane likes his own cutlery better? That's a small compromise when Ilya doesn't have strong feelings about silverware in the first place. But now things are beginning to click, and he's beginning to draw a line between the opinionated spoon people and the day he had to drive his cutlery to the nearest goodwill.

Ilya and Shane mostly stay quiet, giving each other pointed looks when Bood and Wyatt swap stories about their fucking awesome wives. That is until…

“Yeah but like, Roz and Hollzy have the most ideal situation.”

There’s a mix of eyebrow raising and general murmurs of agreement, half of the team unsure if this is Holmberg’s way of coming out.

“What do you mean?” Shane asks, ever one to ignore a social rule.

“You spend all day together kicking ass and being the best at hockey, and then you get to go home together and be and love and shit but also still talk hockey.” Holmberg sighs and stares into his locker a little wistfully. “I wish I was gay so I could have a hockey husband.”

The team is quiet for a minute, some of the younger members nodding in sage agreement. Bood even looks like it’s an intriguing idea.

“Why don’t you date a PWHL player?”

Wyatt says it with it much fuss, shoving his pads into his bag unceremoniously. Holms, however, looks like he’s just been struck by lightning.

“Say that again.”

Wyatt turns to the kid, eyebrows raised like he’s confused by the reaction.

“You know that the PWHL exists, right?”

Holmsberg is too thunderstruck to scoff.

“Yeah. The Charge. They’re…oh my god.”

Think of the shenanigans as they tried to get them together. Ilya might think it was a little bit sweet but he would also be humiliated because he is down bad but it's mutual! The pity would have him punching walls.

and better

Cj: Pretty much a 1 to 1. She kills Grace and frankly, she gets mad that he doesn't realize he needs to die because it means she is going to have to be the one to kill him.

Jed: Would sit for hours with Grace, softly explaining what is happening, praying with him, doing everything he can to gently tell him he has no choice, so he should just accept it.