After that, it was a fancy Italian restaurant that was a little stuffy for my taste, but the food was quite tasty, and we spent the entire time catching up on one another’s lives, connecting a little more intimately than we’ve been able to lately.
And after all that, we (of course) got down to our Saturday night routine. And I don’t know if it was all the effort he put into the night, that I felt sort of pretty in my dress that night and therefore less self-conscious during the act itself, or it was just a stroke of good luck, but I was able to, you know, finish with him. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the vagina, and just celebrated it for the progress it was.
Reconnecting, carving out time for the two of us, remembering how much sense we make together, it’s cast shadows on all my confusing thoughts that’ve been snowballing for weeks, maybe months, maybe longer. The spotlight is on all of his finer points,ourfiner points, and all the rest retreats into the murky darkness, nothing but rough outlines, shapes of something that rings a bell, but unable to be seen clearly when it isn’t top of mind.
Right now, I’m just busy feeling content, comfortable, secure once again in life as I’ve known it since I was twenty-six. All those other thoughts? They’ve faded to static, nothing discernible my ears or my consciousness can make out amongst the white noise.
Curled up against David on the couch now, a little Sunday evening reset before our new week begins, things feel as right as they always have. For as high maintenance as I probably come off, a little affection, some romance, and an O or two, and I’m one happy girlfriend. Everything else I require, I can (and do) provide for myself. But there’s nothing like feeling seen, adored for all your quirks and eccentricities, by that special person in your life.
We’re still a good three-plus months away from Christmas, and here in Florida that means we’re nowhere near cooler weather, but I like to pretend sometimes. I’m asuckerfor the Christmas season. Which is why our seventy-inch flat screen is currently crackling and popping with the intimate light of logs burning in a hearth, soft holiday classics playing in the background.
David’s eyes tick up from where they’ve been focused on his phone, like he only just noticed the video I’ve been playing for the last hour. “Already?”
“Hey!” I defend. “They’re already selling PSLs, the decorations have been out for a month in the big stores, we’re working on holiday campaigns for our clients… I’m actually late to the party if we’re using the calendar of consumerism.”
He shakes his head at me. “Can you at least turn it down?”
I grin at him, pop a kiss on his shadowed cheek, bump the volume down a couple notches so he can concentrate, and go back to my phone.
One AirPod Pro in, one naked ear out lets me enjoy the best of both worlds. The majestic Christmas cheer, and the scrolling sounds of TikTok as I flick through video after video, saving any trending sounds that we might be able to use for our clients this week.
I’m not sure PizzaTok is a thing, but I’ve been down stranger rabbit holes in the name of research for our clients.
As if the worst of what social media has to offer conjured his text, my phone buzzes with a new meme from Asher. I’m ninety percent sure he made this one, but wherever he got it from, it’s my new favorite candidate for something we can definitelynotuse in the client’s ad campaign.
It’s a close-up shot of a pizza pie, with huge words at the top and bottom of the picture: OUR PIZZA DOESN’T HAVE ANY RATS IN IT.
A laugh bursts out of me so unexpectedly that a snort joins it, and I clasp a hand over my lower face to cover any more noises from emerging. That actually makes me just laugh harder, and I end up doubled over across David’s legs, my entire body shaking with laughter.
It’s not even that funny, but you ever have one of those things where you start laughing, and how hard you’re laughing makes you laugh harder? Yeah, that’s the seventh circle of hell I’m currently in.
My gut hurts, my bladder is threatening to spill its contents all over our leather couch, and my cheeks actuallystingfrom being split so wide. It takes a good minute or two to calm myself down, fanning my face to cool my red cheeks, to the point where I’m composed enough to meet David’s bemused glare. I still can’t form words, so I just wave my hand, signifying he doesn’t want to know. He’ll probably think I mean it’s girl talk, but all for the best. This certainly wouldn’t be his humor. My fingers type out a response at lightning speed.
Me:
What
The
Fuck
Why did that make me laugh so freaking hard
Asher:
I mean, technically the meme is true [eyes emoji]
Technically, it also makes you suspect it’s untrue [shrug emoji]
It’s like Schrodinger’s rat
Is there or is there not a rat in the pizza? You will literally never be sure.
Schrodinger’s RAT. He really said that shit. Now I’m laughing even harder, a fresh wave of the giggles overtaking me, and I end up sliding off of the couch, onto the plush rug underneath David’s feet, where tears leak out of my eyes as I stare up at the ceiling in between peals of cackles.
Eventually, the fit starts to subside, and David’s unimpressed, but still curious face peers over the side of the couch at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation.
I shake my head back and forth, knowing that he won’t think it was funny to begin with, but there’s no way he’ll think it was funny enough to justify what the hell just happened. Also, I’m still wheezing.
