I didn’t get it. I missed the irony. I felt stupid. Humour can be so specific. I need to be comfortable, safe to laugh or to get it when a leg is being pulled. He didn’t want my attempt at softness, at empathy, and batted it away. The joke about the sardines went over my head. He let it go. I care for him, more now since I’ve been drawing in his house. I kiss his cheek. But we don’t gel. Not really. And it doesn’t matter. Does it?
