Nerve Endings

[rinue]

Patrick 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.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

*smiles softly*

One would think an agent of Fate would have a better grasp of foresight. I have sometimes been told that there are some things which are meant to be. One would suggest this is one of them.

-Chad

[rinue.livejournal.com]

It really is odd that I have less foresight than most people (concerning myself). One can only assume it's to prevent me from deliberately manipulating the future to my own ends. And I really hate to use the phrase "meant to be," but you're right that it does rather seem to apply, to the extent that I have been told that I only met certain people in order that they would introduce me to Patrick. Still -- hackneyed phrase, especially to those of us in the fanfic world. Grrrr.

It's breathtaking how much I love him, though. I'd marry him today if he asked, and I don't even know that I believe in marriage. Crazy.

loVe,
Romie

[(Anonymous)]

The lass forgets
As she is wont
That I do not Lachysis vaunt

And Clotho's hand
Weaves not the thread
That will be cut when I am dead

Keep this in mind
The Fates are blind
Wipe away and bind your tears
Fear not the shears
The Fates are gettin' on in years
And can't resist my leers
Ho ho!
And can't resist my leers!

*bows fluidly and dances over to the bar for another glass of wine*
The Prince of Thieves