I Knew You'd Call - Camilla Basham

He is prone to rants, brought on by, among other things, the Alanis Morissette song “Ironic”.

“It doesn’t actually give one bloody example of irony. It should be called “Isn’t it a Coincidence” or “Isn't it Bad Luck.” Or better yet, “Isn’t That Just A String of Unfortunate Events that Truly Suck” but there is no irony.” He says waving his hands through the air.

It's one of his pet peeves: the mass misinterpretation of irony; as is the abuse of the word literally. “I will literally kick your teeth out of your head the next time you misuse the word literally?” he jokes with his interns. He can go on for hours about such things and sometimes does. When he does, the veins in his forehead raise and his hands become animated. He looks like a college professor lecturing a class.

I lay rolled up in hotel sheets watching him pace at the foot of the bed and I feel so turned on by his mind, his conviction, his passion for such small matters that I want to pull him on top of me, and I do. “Hey, we don’t have time for this,” he protests, “we still need to pack up and I thought we’d grab a quick breakfast at the diner.”

“We don’t have to leave until one o’clock.” I tell him.

“I knew you’d call and request late check out.” He kisses my forehead.” Well, since you’re now making me late for the morning meeting you need to help me with some ideas for my column this week; any news items that you might find particularly interesting.”

My head plops into the pillow, my mind blank. It suddenly dawns on me that I have no idea what is going on in the world outside of the four walls of our hotel room. Now that I’m sleeping with one of the editors at the New York Times, I am completely uninformed on current events. “How's that for irony?” I ask him and he literally laughs until he cries.