Scene: a bedroom in a spooky historical loft, just outside of downtown Los Angeles
Yesterday was a doozy. I went to bed early and woke up even earlier than usual. I pinged the dark horse to say hello.
“Hey there sexy.”
“How was your day? You weren’t on all day.”
“Yeah it was good. What did I do? Oh went out drinking again.”
“No drunk text messages.”
“Yeah I know. Next time.”
I told him about the disaster of my evening last night.
“I wanted to participate in a poetry reading yesterday and I got stuck with car crap.”
We talked more in private. Things that maybe if I decide to tell you, you will know.
“I have flaws. I am not perfect.” he said.
“I know. But thanks for reminding me.”
“You need reminding.” he laughed.
“Don’t worry. I’ll probably use them against you when I feel is appropriate and to my advantage. Because I have a vagina and all that.”
“What are my flaws?”
“I’m not mad at you right now so…”
We talked more. He teased. I taunted back.
“You don’t want to be my sex prisoner? I will give you a metal bikini and chain you to my bed like I was in a Star Wars movie.”
“My hair isn’t long enough to braid like that. So I guess that won’t work.”
“Oh so you’re going to send me wigs now? Fabulous! You have my address. You can send more flowers too. Pretty please?”
He wanted to trade something. Something that if we hadn’t had a six year long history I might have been off put by it. Something a bit higher in a demand list than a guy I went out with once had asked on that first date. Well, almost. But that’s a different story.
“So fair. You do that and you get presents. You can juggle all the guys you want. With me as safety, trips, dinners, presents.”
That was so not fair of him to say. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an exciting invitation. And, quite frankly, I might be a bit crazy for not taking it and running with it. He’s my best friend. He’s been there in the background for years. I never gave him a real chance when he was local but he always makes a point to see me when he comes home. I’ve had an open invitation to travel Europe with a man whom adores me… and yet here I am, happily dating one failed romance after another, without a passport and not taking him up on that.
“How far is Dresden from you?”
“Far. Prague is closer.”
“No I want to go to Columbia. I hear it’s awesome. Plus lots of h0t Columbians. Hot Columbians and jungle and coke.”
“But dear there’s mummies in Peru! I want to get a hat and whip and pretend I’m the girl Indiana Jones!”
“Go to Egypt for that. It’s closer to me.”
Happily ever after… is here whenever I decide to go into the after. This just doesn’t seem real.