Andrew J. Lederer

didn't tell me 'til today that it's likely the crumbling paint in her building's stairwell contains asbestos. (she was kind enough to tap the walls and send potentially deadly material flying as she did so.)

this was before we went outside -- at 5:30 pm -- and she fretted that she had not put on her sunblock. (asbestos si, uva, no.)

later, on the way back in, i started to hold my breath but for some reason -- possibly because the walls seemed intact -- i forced myself to breathe.

maybe it was because i feared i'd otherwise, just short of asphyxiation, have to suck in a shitload of air at the exact spot where the asbestos-laden walls were crumbling.

of course, my self-protective breathing began just as the danger zone came upon me.

meanwhile, bookended by these invitations to mesothelioma, elise and i took a trip to the movies where i worried that the smell of a sardine-stained napkin in my pocket and the perhaps-related bad breath would offend her.

i've been cautious about hygiene with her since she told me how last year, when we went to the science museum, i stank. (i'd intended to use the washing machine that morning but my host had laid claim to it and i had to put on sweat-steeped clothes.)

i don't think i stank today but, fortunately, talk-spitting -- not one of my usual afflictions -- seems to have placed me in it's grip and i rained on elise's facial parade a couple of times, to her understandable chagrin.

now, she's brought me a cup of tea, which is on the floor within shedding distance of the sneakers in which i walked on carpets that are likely imbued with years of asbestos dust.

i guess i have to drink the tea or make elise feel bad by spilling out something she took the trouble to make. (i just presented her with the notion that the tea may be tainted and she didn't seem to want me to discard it.)

ulp.