Thrifty Tulip #1
So I sat next to you. And I thought to myself...
"Okay, you're mildly attractive. Let's make out?"
And so we do. And at this moment, at this exact moment, I have this conception that THIS will be different. We will be soul mates. And we will be compatible. And, again, as mentioned before, we will be soul mates.
And so, we continue, we make out. Kiss kiss.
So it's all "You're an amazing kisser" and "You have amazing tits" and all these things that clearly are only mildly appropriate in this dimly-lit bar. Amazing amazing. But this one time - just this once - it's true, and it's real, and it's truth.
So then it starts, back to your apartment. And so we go, hand in hand. As if we're some sort of pair of Shakesperean lovers where holding hands means something more than the five minutes previously were you pawed at my boobs and I smiled and thought it meant something more than some sort of gin-induced crush.
So we go to your apartment, and we kiss and we touch and we rub and all these things. And it's all "Baby baby baby..." and clearly, it has to be real, it has to be honest and it has to be true.
So we do these things that, five years ago, I couldn't even imagine. But, somehow, you convince me that the candles, and the duvet, and the little paper cup of water that you hand me somehow mean more than anything else. So, we go, and we go, and we go.
....And, then, it's 7am. And it's bright. And the sun is shining more than it ever had. And I wake up, and I look at you, and I look at your nose - which, in the morning light, seems much larger and pointier, and just.....uglier. How did this happen? But, likewise, you look at me, with sleep in my eyes and my hair standing upright and, right then, I see the same regret I feel --- in your eyes. And you see my crusty eyes, and fuzzy hair, and lumpy legs, and all these things and I realize - I never this magical upper hand, where I could bamboozle you into some sort of amazing love story the likes of which no poet ever dreamed - - - no, the truth is, in the glare of this bright sunny light....I'm just standing here, trying to pull my pants on as quickly as I can and stuffing my thong from last night in my back pocket. And I play it off like it's this thing - this thing I do all the time, what with the making out, and the stuffing of the thong, and the throwing on the sunglasses so I can walk the twenty blocks home - but it's not. It's no straight-up thing.
"Okay, you're mildly attractive. Let's make out?"
And so we do. And at this moment, at this exact moment, I have this conception that THIS will be different. We will be soul mates. And we will be compatible. And, again, as mentioned before, we will be soul mates.
And so, we continue, we make out. Kiss kiss.
So it's all "You're an amazing kisser" and "You have amazing tits" and all these things that clearly are only mildly appropriate in this dimly-lit bar. Amazing amazing. But this one time - just this once - it's true, and it's real, and it's truth.
So then it starts, back to your apartment. And so we go, hand in hand. As if we're some sort of pair of Shakesperean lovers where holding hands means something more than the five minutes previously were you pawed at my boobs and I smiled and thought it meant something more than some sort of gin-induced crush.
So we go to your apartment, and we kiss and we touch and we rub and all these things. And it's all "Baby baby baby..." and clearly, it has to be real, it has to be honest and it has to be true.
So we do these things that, five years ago, I couldn't even imagine. But, somehow, you convince me that the candles, and the duvet, and the little paper cup of water that you hand me somehow mean more than anything else. So, we go, and we go, and we go.
....And, then, it's 7am. And it's bright. And the sun is shining more than it ever had. And I wake up, and I look at you, and I look at your nose - which, in the morning light, seems much larger and pointier, and just.....uglier. How did this happen? But, likewise, you look at me, with sleep in my eyes and my hair standing upright and, right then, I see the same regret I feel --- in your eyes. And you see my crusty eyes, and fuzzy hair, and lumpy legs, and all these things and I realize - I never this magical upper hand, where I could bamboozle you into some sort of amazing love story the likes of which no poet ever dreamed - - - no, the truth is, in the glare of this bright sunny light....I'm just standing here, trying to pull my pants on as quickly as I can and stuffing my thong from last night in my back pocket. And I play it off like it's this thing - this thing I do all the time, what with the making out, and the stuffing of the thong, and the throwing on the sunglasses so I can walk the twenty blocks home - but it's not. It's no straight-up thing.
posted by Thrifty Tulip at 10:35 PM
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