We sat around the living room chatting until it was time to
go. I almost snoozed because I was so relaxed. Outside their big picture
window, the trees were full of changing leaves. We were listening to a George
Harrison tribute album and Cute Master was grumbling about how Ringo hadn’t
chosen to do George songs. (All the Beatles references might make you think
they’re Baby Boomers, but they’re about the same age as me.) I sat at Pretty
Slave’s feet while she explained us some science and then we talked about
physics and god and how they probably have nothing to do with each other.
Seriously, how hot is this woman?
We were going to a movie theater where they serve you dinner
right at your seat! Cute Master drove and Pretty Slave let me have the
passenger seat because I’m the tallest. We sang along with the radio
intermittently and I tried to convince him I’d recently ended my sex embargo:
“In fact, I wrote “Have Sex (With Someone Else) Four Times”
on my October checklist! You could be one of the times!”
Which is how we ended up listening to Morris Day and the
Time singing “Jungle Love” and declaring it our song. While I was dancing it
out Jay and Silent Bob style in the passenger’s seat, I realized that I like
him. Cute Master, not Morris Day. I remembered how much of a priority music
used to be and I loved being the girl who got all his references. As we made
the logical progression from Morris Day to Purple
Rain and harmonized on “When Doves Cry,” I stopped considering him and
started liking him. It’s the cozy feeling I can only get from liking songs with
someone.
We had 6-8 songs by the end of the evening, and the next
night I’d realize that “Call Me Maybe” is my song with Pretty Slave. I like
them because they let me be completely and totally cheesy, the way I am born to
be.
I couldn’t get over how happy I was to be getting taken on
an actual date!
“You deserve it!” said PS, “You should demand dates from
everyone!”
Maybe not everyone, but she does have a point. I just felt
so special that they gave me their Friday night just because they like me, not
for any expectations. And he was just such a man picking up that check. *swoon* There’s so much to be said for
feeling valued and taken care of. I don’t think I could demand it, but I think
that I’ll look for ways to let it happen to me a little more often.
We saw Don Jon, which was the perfect thing to see because
it’s all about letting go of the fantasies and expectations about what sex and
relationships should be like and seeing (and fucking) the person in front of
you for what he or she really is. Plus, (spoiler alert!) I like that the
tearful redhead of a certain age gets the guy in the end. (PS insists that I’m
not “of a certain age” yet—probably not.)
On the way back to their house, he put on the alternative
station and the songs got even better. I reached back and held PS’s hand,
dreamy and happy and ready to jump right into their snuggly bed.
What happened instead was that I stripped down to panties
and bra, PS changed into a pretty red satin nightgown, and CM packed us a nice
bowl. Control-freak me had just one hit of it, but that was plenty, it was
really good stuff. We sat on the couch with PS in the middle and watched Yellow Submarine, trying to figure out
what the heck is going on in that movie and singing our hearts out to the
songs. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was, how lucky I was to be snuggled up
singing with my cute pals.
But I’d woken up at 5:30 AM that day and did NOT want to
fall asleep without jumping on them, so as much as I was enjoying the singing
and the psychedelic ridiculousness of the movie, I got up the courage to say:
“Um, why are we not in a bed?”
Next: I thank them profusely and a “curious about” becomes
and “into.”
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