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Nerve Endings
Aug. 5th, 2002 12:18 amPatrick is sprawled on the bed with his hand wrapped around my ankle and his head on the pillow in Delia's lap. I confess that I don't know what to write about; I seem to have trouble thinking these days. It's not so bad, I suppose -- I can still make gumbo, and I've managed to sort my shoes into those I wear and those I do not. And as for the cause of my malady, well. . . he alternates puns with the hums in the back of his throat and his eyes turn a pearlized green when he looks at me. In any case, the advantages far outweigh the defecits.
I think our behavior should be disgusting to just about everyone, but instead they are elated and mildly smug. Primary reactions vary from leaping up and down in delight to a smilingly sarcastic "so, you and Patrick are a couple. Sure didn't see that one coming! It's only been what, two years?" There has also been a lot of staring at the both of us and grinning like an idiot until I become so cross I must flee to the bathroom. (At which point I am followed and subjected to potential-bridesmaid jockeying no matter how many times I make eloquent attacks on the entire institution of the wedding.)
My own parents are convinced that the reason we're coming to Boston is to announce our engagement, and I haven't even told them we're together. Of course, this hasn't stopped any of my old friends from leaping to the same conclusions; upon meeting my oldest friend, Kristina, in the lobby of a Honda service center, it only took my saying "You know how. . ." to elicit a gasp of "Oh my God! You're finally with Patrick!"
This has been revoltingly common, which leads me to believe that the large majority of my friends have been conspiring against me for the past two years. Valancy apparently came close to running a betting pool as to when it would happen.
Yes; it is indeed fortunate that I am the happiest I've ever been, because otherwise heads would roll. It's not as though I don't command a squad of ninjas who swore fealty to me upon the defeat of Roshambo.
I think our behavior should be disgusting to just about everyone, but instead they are elated and mildly smug. Primary reactions vary from leaping up and down in delight to a smilingly sarcastic "so, you and Patrick are a couple. Sure didn't see that one coming! It's only been what, two years?" There has also been a lot of staring at the both of us and grinning like an idiot until I become so cross I must flee to the bathroom. (At which point I am followed and subjected to potential-bridesmaid jockeying no matter how many times I make eloquent attacks on the entire institution of the wedding.)
My own parents are convinced that the reason we're coming to Boston is to announce our engagement, and I haven't even told them we're together. Of course, this hasn't stopped any of my old friends from leaping to the same conclusions; upon meeting my oldest friend, Kristina, in the lobby of a Honda service center, it only took my saying "You know how. . ." to elicit a gasp of "Oh my God! You're finally with Patrick!"
This has been revoltingly common, which leads me to believe that the large majority of my friends have been conspiring against me for the past two years. Valancy apparently came close to running a betting pool as to when it would happen.
Yes; it is indeed fortunate that I am the happiest I've ever been, because otherwise heads would roll. It's not as though I don't command a squad of ninjas who swore fealty to me upon the defeat of Roshambo.
