On Saturday morning, not long after I updated whirlygirl, B told me I smelled like bologna.
I protested. He insisted.
Actually that was about the time that he revised his statement to say that I smelled like bologna and
coffee. And about an hour later when I was fretting about the brunch dress code at Mon Ami Gabi due to our planned
brunch-adjacent hike, he told me to "call them up and see if they will serve your coffee-bologna-smelling
self."
Well folks, the romance is gone.
It's hard for me to believe that we met face to face for the first time three years ago today. Three years.
In three years we went from poolside soap bubble kisses to bologna. But oh what a ride it's been.
Spending last weekend with my tried and true high school girlfriends meant sharing information. And in the middle of
all of the babble pouring out of my mouth about events and anecdotes and plans and feelings, the word that
surfaced more than any other was comfortable. And maybe three years ago
that word might of turned me off with its monotonous undertones, but today it feels hopeful and cozy and
extremely satisfying, peppered with trust and a lot of laughter.
Don't get me wrong, he still sweeps me off my feet and moves me to special happy tears and makes my insides
z-z-i-i-N-N-G-G-G-G and brings me to breathless shrieks of cackling laughter-- especially when he shrinks to avoid
my sofa kisses. But over the past year since we've lived together, and actually over each and every one of the
days I have known him, he's coaxed me little by little back from an edge over which I barely knew I was precariously
dangling. And that makes each day better than the last.
Bologna and all. |
