Yes… sss

Mon, 15 Jun 2026 18:26:13 -0500
Monday tried
to be Our Day.
It really did.
But your planning
had too many tabs open,
and my work went
long
and busy
and rude.
So the day became
what it probably
needed to be.
Rest.
Or something
shaped close enough to rest
that we could stop picking at it.
No dramatic collapse.
No grand disappointment.
Just life
doing the calendar thing
where it looks
at the plan
and says:
cute.
Anyhow.
This is where
the Salt Cannon
enters the room.
Capital letters earned.
Months on backorder.
Months.
For a salt grinder
so unnecessarily serious
it sounds like
it should require
range safety and eye protection.
It arrived today.
At last.
The long-awaited,
over-engineered,
deeply unreasonable
steak-seasoning device of my dreams.
Obviously,
I have to use it on a steak.
Immediately.
Probably too much.
Almost certainly too much.
So I sent you
the only responsible
invitation:
if you’re interested
in an oversalted steak tomorrow…
Friendly.
Casual.
Barely a trap.
Just a man
standing near a
dangerous quantity of sodium
asking the woman
he cannot stop smiling about
whether she might want dinner.
And you,
because you are you,
teed it up perfectly.
Not a paragraph.
Not a plan.
Not a negotiation
with the logistics gods.
Just:
“yessss”
Six characters.
Four s’s.
The minimum number required
for it to become that particular kind of yes.
Not yes.
Not yess.
Not yesss.
Yessss.
The smallest possible Mari excess.
The exact little surplus
that turns an answer
into a weather system.
I know this is ridiculous.
I know normal people
probably receive
affirmative texts
without auditing
the consonant count.
Good for them.
May their steaks be sensibly seasoned
and their hearts remain untroubled
by typography.
Mine is not
built like that.
Mine saw
four s’s
and _immediately_
started rearranging the lights in the room.
Because that’s
the tradition now.
Some people
keep flowers.
Some keep ticket stubs.
Some keep receipts
from impossible dinners
and pretend not to know why.
Me?
I keep the extra letters.
The little stretch
you put at the end
of _yes_
when yes is not quite big enough
to hold you.
And maybe tomorrow
the steak
will be perfect.
Maybe it will be
a crime scene
with grill marks.
Maybe the Salt Cannon
will do exactly
what its name threatens…
and we’ll both need emergency water.
Fine.
Worth it.
Because tonight
already gave me
the part I’ll remember.
The rest day
that didn’t become
Our Day
still found a way to hand me tomorrow.
Yes…
sss.
Steak on Bougyman's Ramblings

Yes… sss
