He's the kind of guy that, despite being big and strong, cries when he talks about his dead grandmother or at movies depicting a dying child.
He doesn't have to "act" macho. He IS macho.
He's the kind of guy that says, "You're beautiful," when you're not wearing make up. "I love your pimples," he says.
If you yell at him; "You're a terrible driver!" he's the kind of guy that replies, "I love when you yell at me."
His confidence is unstoppable. When you're in his arms you're inside a fortress. It's a bliss I've never known. I wanted to be there...forever.
He's the kind of guy that bribes you to help yourself. He bribes his kids too. Bribery works.
He's the kind of guy that says, "I won't be late this time." Then he is. It's a psychological "fuck you" in my humble opinion.
If you're in his arms having a hot flash (getting his cheek sweaty) he says, "I always wanted a woman to be hot for me."
I'm grateful...this Thanksgiving because "THAT" guy is my boyfriend.
Woops. I spoke too soon. He picked up his tools and left. We had an argument. I said some things. I took him to my friend's sister-in-laws house for Thanksgiving. We were in a mansion surrounded by zombies. So much money...you should have seen the place. I'm the only one that acknowleged it. She looked at me with disgust when I said, "your house is beautiful". I remember where she lived before. I guess your not supposed to remember.
Our millionaire hostess was flirting with him I think, with pretend vulnerability. She told us her life story with her last billionaire husband. The vulnerability that women convey mesmerizes me. I know it's false because when it's REAL...all you do is try to cover it up.
She never said a word about her life...until my tall strapping boyfriend was there.
I miss Lynn.(Her mother) Had I been granted access..I would have saved her.
I don't think you know the effort it takes to save someone from this crazy healthcare system. You have to take on doctors, learn everything about the malady your loved one is facing (so they respect you).
Then you have to fire the physicians that behave as if your mother/whomever is already in a coffin. You have to find watch dog organizations to oversee them (they hate that). But everyone performs better when they know someone is watching. You have to show up, make a million calls, ask the radiologist to give you a few months of anti-naseau meds because they are not covered by insurance. Sit on his desk, flip your hair....do things you would never do because life is on the line.
You'd do it again...if you loved someone.
So you call other doctors, nurses, hospice joints to get the goods on who IS the the right physcian. You don't stop. Not ever. Then you find him. The right physcian...the one that treats your loved one like a human being and it works. She lives. (exhales)
"Don't you know you're the only one?" he says.
No I don't.
Then I escalate things, end things because I don't think I could handle getting hurt or rejected by him. I love him. Love is a stranger to me, I don't know how to behave. All I know is how to protect myself, you, my sisters and mother...anyone really...even him.
I'm abnormally good at endings. This time, he did it.
The little boy next door is singing "Jingle Bells" beneath my window. His Golden Retriever is smashing against my gate...Life goes on.