antecoitus

Last year we went to David Morales’ party for Valentine’s Day. (Yes, we’re one of those couples who enjoy going to parties even if it’s just the two of us). Last year after the party we went home at 7am, drunk with vodka and redbull and with an overdose of hung paper hearts. Since we both took a day off the following day, we opted to stay in the living room, talking until 10am after the mandatory shower to rid ourselves of club smell. We woke up at 3pm, stayed in until 5 and went for dinner at 7. It was perfect.

This year, he was closing the financial month a little bit later because he had other work priorities and was in the office until 3am of the 14th. I, on the other hand, drove to the Polish embassy (I need a visa for a meeting in Gdynia on the 26th) at 7 in the morning to give them my new 64 page passport which they asked me to get so that I’m sure to never again run out of passport space again, went to fetch a colleague from her house, drove 314 kms to a branch office out of Prague, had a meeting and drove back. I called him when I got home to tell him that I was going for yoga. He said, ‘okay, I’ll see you in front of the building at 8pm and we can go straight to dinner.’ I was not supposed to cook tonight.

We both forgot about Valentine’s Day.

At 8pm, I went back home. He was getting out of the building and I was walking towards it, when I instinctively ran to him like a kid and gave him an enormous hug. I was tired from the day and that hug will be my first form of rest. He pushed me away… I frowned…then he pulled out a bunch of flowers. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, babuy. I remembered.’ It was valentine’s day.

I told him I had nothing for him, as I felt shame wash over me. I was supposed to be the mushy one. I was the freaking girl, for f*ck’s sake. So I just stood there looking stunned and with my mouth open while he escorted me to the car and said as he closed the door— ‘don’t worry you’re still with me, that’s enough.’

That’s when it hit me… why do I still have to train myself to be a girl? When I so easily can be one with this guy. Dang, I can be a girl. Finally.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 14th, 2007 at 1:22 pm and is filed under lithium loads and orgasmic wounds (on relationships). You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.