she doesnt mind that im up writing until 5am. she only smirks when i crawl in bed and tell alexa to wake me up at noon.
and often as she rises in the morning i will hear her via ESP think
how is he so sexy at 197 years old?
but one thing we disagree on is this pandemic.
me, i say stay at home, wear a mask, and limit ways for the deadly bug to get you.
she is young and full of life and loves being out and aboot.
this causes friction. not sexy friction. and not friction that one day will create a diamond.
this is conflict that digs right to the triad of all relationships: trust, honest communication, and the desire for the relationship to continue.
what you dont trust me? she’ll yell.
no, no i dont! i’ll write on a post-it and slap it on Prince’s tail.
unlike most relationships this lack of trust isn’t of a sexual nature, as a libra on the scorpio cusp i dare you to woo her better than i
i just dont trust how close she will talk with strangers, or how close other men want to get to her on the sidewalk. MEN WITH COOTIES.
and i also don’t like how often she goes to Starbucks, one place people take their masks off for that ridiculously overpriced cup of joe.
i offer to buy her expensive machines but she declines. i offer to have a Task Rabbit mail her Christmas packages but she scoffs. “why should we send a stranger into harm at the Post Office??”
every afternoon as i rise i see her smile turned upside down and i know it’s over one thing: her pissed off ness for being locked up like Rapunzel, who is not allowed to have handsome italian men charge her $700 to give her hair — her beautiful hair — the Sexy Smooth she’s grown accustomed to.
and it’s all my fault.
thats what she tells me.
YOU SAID THIS WOULD BE OVER BY THE FOURTH OF JULY! she reminds me.
how did i know the GOP would let it electorate suffer this fate?
live and learn, i guess.
or just learn.