*crickets chirp in a vaguely accusatory 'You lazy non-updating slut' tone of
Ok. I get it. Sheesh.
Ahem. As I was saying...
Sometime after V-Day and before the BG came home, in that period where Shithead was dropping hints like Ace Ventura's Anus on Taco Bell, we had The Talk.
Or rather, he began The Talk and I began hyperventilating.
For those of you who have never had A Talk in your lives, the topic of discussion is
The Future Together
the punctuation of which depends on your flavour of The Talk.
The Future Together.
The Future: Together!
The Future: Together?
Mine was the last variant. Basically Shithead
A) declared his love for me
B) wanted to know if the feeling was mutual because
C) if not things should end right then.
I, for the record, started hyperventilating somewhere around the word 'Love'; by point C I was trying to refrain from hysteronic hysterics. Being the astute observer and a completely evil bastard to boot, he asked me if I loved him.
Unfortunately I must have use a death grip on the figurative balls as it came out all squeaky and breathless. Shithead then posed yet another Solar Plexus Question
Do you trust me?
Nooooo...*still squeaking, dammit. Get a hold of yourself, girl
*Gee, I dunno. Maybe due to the fact that you played Full Contact Yo-Yo with my heart 3 years ago and I'm scared you'll do it again and I don't think i could handle a second go-round*
*Oh Christ. I have to answer don't I?*
Hey. Are you listening?
*Deep Breath. You can do this* I'mscaredandI'don'twanttogothroughallthatagainandohgodnowI'mcryingandIhatecryingbutIcan'tstopandfuckIhavethehiccupsnowdammit...
At this point he dropped the Big Bomb, the Knee Wobbler, the Breath Depriver, the Clichè Phrase that Makes Your Heart & Stomach Fuse into One.
I want to grow old with you.
Which, in the moment was somehow more sincere, more serious, and more heartfelt than a marriage proposal. And considering the hive-inducing allergy i have developed to the M-word in the past three years, showed an awareness to the fact that I was Scared Shitless of Commitment and For Good Fucking Reason, Too, Thank You Very Much.
I had a brief thought towards the whole Jerry-Fucking-McGuireness of the situation, followed by the sensation of that hovering instant before you plunge down the first huge hill of a roller coaster.
Roller coasters are no fun if they jam at the top of the hill and you have to climb back down on the Safety Staircase Reserved for Pansies, my friends.
So I agreed to this mad folly of a ride and, like all good stereotypical clichès used when describing relationships, has had its ups and downs.
Curly teases me mercilessly (I give as good as I get, though) and though I have moments when the voices in my head scream in unison "You must be fucking out of your mind", I have no regrets (so far).
I don't quite know where or when or if this mad little ride will end (possible 'why's I'll leave for another post), but for now folks just picture me in the front carriage, lap bar down and hands up in the air, squealing