Skip to main content

Laying It all Out

I'm meeting Steven for a late lunch. He wants to discuss "where things between us are heading." I thought I could answer his question by reminding him of our most recent encounter. Basically, a sexual relationship. I know at least that could work.

Honestly, I'm afraid of going any further than that.  I want to, but I'm not sure I can deal with a relationship with someone I work with. A person who I'd see every day, 9:30-5:30 and then more. There would be awkward moments, knowing looks, and I'd have to make sure to wear pretty underwear all the time, because I'd never know when he will want a quickie before the 10:15 meeting. Oy.

Are these silly reasons? Of course they are. All excuses are silly. Still, I'm back at that whole instincts thing. My instincts tell me, and loudly, THIS WON'T WORK! But he wants this to materialize beyond giving me head and one stroke fucks. He says he wants to wash my hair and rub expensive cream on my legs. "I'll even make you tea on Sunday mornings." I haven't seen a Sunday morning in two years. He'd make my favorite tea and by the time I wake up, it will be room temperature. I hate room temperature. 

Excuses.

He says he wants a relationship. And I want...something. Something other than eating falafels alone. Jan's neutral on falafels; Viv eats her's smelly. Steven eats them in salads. I could deal with that, okay. But I don't have space for him in my apartment. Nope. Can't do that. And I'm a clean sleeper. When I get out of bed, all I have to do is turn the comforter up and my bed is made.

What the hell am I doing? I have to dry my hair.
Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

Tick-Tock

So there I was, standing in line at Walgreens, a bottle of orange juice and a box with the acronym e.p.t. stenciled across it in my hands. The orange juice is there to make me feel better. This is no big deal; just a city girl buying orange juice and a pregnancy test. There's an old white-haired lady behind me with a tube of KY Jelly and tampons. Okay.... In front of me is a middle-aged man, looking jolly with chubby red cheeks. "Hurry up," he barks to cashier, "I left my car running." Well, so much for jolly. It was my turn. I manage to stop my hand from shaking long enough to put my things on the counter and pry my wallet from my handbag. I paid and fled. Jan's waiting in the lobby of my apartment building, chatting up my doorman. When he spots me he frowns. "Oh, look at you, honey," he says while hugging me. "C'mon, baby, let's get this over with." I smile, comforted by his genuine concern. When Jan's being comfort, his acc...
Read more

Broiling Alive

Some of you might not be aware of this but Chicago has morphed into the fiery pits of Hell, with atrocious sunburned feet to boot. See, this is why I hate summer, for this exact reason. Why do people insist on wearing flip flops in the sun? I can't tell you how many hundreds of sunburned feet I witnessed just last week alone. Jan managed to drag Diana and me to the beach on Sunday, where we both proceeded to bake and die immediately. Jan didn't care -- he was busy working on his "sex tan." You know, the kind where there's a dramatic tan line around the hips. The Swedes sure know how to tan, don't they? you would think with them being Nordic that they would just burn to a crisp, but no -- golden brown goodness all the time. This weekend, Diana's apartment was a cooling center. We conked out with old Glamours and iced raspberry-lemon tea. I don't know why Diana is afraid to throw away magazines. I swear there is a 1997 issue of Glamour with some supe...
Read more

Comfort Food

For lunch, I treated myself to a delicious T-bone steak, medium rare, and buttery mashed potatoes seasoned with kosher salt. There's nothing better in this world than buttery mashed potatoes seasoned with kosher salt. Comfort food, if you will. I needed that steak today like I need oxygen. It was pertinent to my survival; pertinent to my keeping my job.  Eating the steak today reminded me of how I've used comfort foods to get me through tough periods.  Breaking up with Michael: Macaroni and cheese. From scratch. I made  béchamel sauce and used several cheeses. I'd make a big pot and use chicken and broccoli to make it even more comforting. It was a glass of Riesling, mac and cheese, and a journal that got me through those tough weeks.  Losing a BIG Account: Meatloaf and mashed potato sandwiches. It was my first year at the firm and this was THE account to get, and I blew it. I ordered this sandwich two weeks in a row for dinner.  When Sister Attempted Suicide: ...
Read more