Where I Turn Into A 5 Year Old And Throw A Public Fit Over Porn Deprivation

I had the most magical day planned for Sunday and I was so excited to experience it, photograph it, write about it, blog about etc…

First, a conference at Université de Montréal, By Michael Greger.


The physician, author, and internationally recognized professional speaker and an expert witness in defence of Oprah Winfrey at the infamous “meat defamation” trial. That’s who.


I know!

I was so excited and have been counting down the days for over the month.

I may have overestimated to what extent François would share my enthusiasm.

And he may have been a little bored. And not very good at hiding it.

Me: Oooh! It’s Question and Answer period! Do have any questions?

Franky: Yea. Can we leave?

To which I retaliated by sweetly volunteering him for a 10 minute survey after the conference.

We went for lunch downtown afterwards but food didn’t seem to lift his spirits much. He bitched about societal breakdown and barked at the paper place-mate, under his Mediterranean tofu sauté, for advertising self-help gurus and self realization workshops.

I tried to make light and managed, for the most part, stay positive and cheerful. We had a walking tour of the Red Light District coming up in half an hour and was still excited enough not to let poopy-pants ruin it.

That is, until HE had to go ruin everything by having some kind of dramatic dental freak-out.

Oh sure, he was clearly in agonizing pain. Tears were creeping from the corners of his eyes, he winced and cringed and recoiled, then rocked back and forth in his chair for a moment. His face white and red with beads of sweat cascading from his brow line.

Most telling, he didn’t finish his food.

Seriouly, I’m not joking, It goes from my tooth, into my eye and down my neck and..

Me: Mmhmm. (If he didn’t want to go on the walk, he could have just said so. Honestly.)

Franky: Is the left side of my head swelling up?

Me: No more than usual…

Franky: I’m dizzy. I just almost fell down. Is this normal?

Me: Nope.

Franky: I need to go home…

At which point, I scooped François up in my arms, carried him home and nursed him ( Held a cold compress against his jaw, fed him hand-peeled codeine, regurgitated fruit purée, and organic cloves that I ground with my mortar and pestle only moments before massaging it tenderly into his gums), until the next morning when I drove him to the nearest Dental hospital.


I may have actually instead, pouted, grit my teeth, dramatically raised my eyebrows a few times while biting my lip. I may also have accidentally implied that it was all Franky’s fault that this was happening (because obviously he totally planned for this to go down THIS afternoon so he wouldn’t have to go on that walk with me). I may also have snapped at him 2 or 3 times and left him standing, dizzy, frightened and alone, on the corner of Crack and Ho, to find his own way home. Maybe.



And somewhere between dejectedly searching the streets for the Red Light Walking Tour and calling Franky to see if he got home without dying and also to say sorry for being a jerk but also by the way it totally is your fault because I’ve been nagging you to go tot the dentist for a year but I’m still sorry for being a bitch when you were in gut-wrenching pain –

I realized that I am starving for stimulation and inspiration and that I really need to take myself on more dates.


So I’m asking, for the sake of my poor abused boyfriend, for suggestions of free activities I can do by myself. Dates with me, on a budget.

And also, I will photograph them and write about them and blog about them, so as to share them with you too. Also. As well.


Jennifer June

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