Thursday, Jul. 03, 2003
We're headed off to my dad's today, Amy and I. For some reason she decided that she needs to color her hair this morning and paint her toenails, all before she's packed her clothes.
I was standing in her kitchen waiting for my toast to pop up while carrying on a boring conversation with Cello. He refuses to eat leftovers, even to get to the fresh food I put at the bottom of the dish, under the leftovers, so that they would get eaten. He was telling me that he'd really rather I didn't do that anymore, and would I please scoop out some fresh kibles or give him a bite of my leftover pizza.
"But you don't eat leftovers," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
"And I'm not giving you any of my pizza."
"You've got food in your dish, pal," I said. "That's all you're getting from me."
"Yeah," he said.
In words, it would appear I was having a conversation with Rain Man rather than an animal whose conversation ability was limited to a single monotone sylable.
I thought about the time. I had originally wanted to be on the freeway at nine in the morning. But Alex got free tickets to the comedy club, and a gang of us went out last night and got happy-stinky instead of going home and packing after work. I wondered what my eventual mothers-in-law would think (Amy's biological and step moms) if they heard me say I would rather be late and have Amy color her hair than get mad at her and have her feel bad. Because what would be the point of spoiling my good mood over that? No one is going to die, and my butt probably won't fall off if we don't make it to eastern Washington before four in the (fucking) afternoon.
I will eventually be taking on the role of Amy's husband. No, we don't have a date set, in case you were wondering. It's still unofficial and we're keeping it on the d-low, the QT, under our hats. Only Alex and Amy's best friend Hilary know. Oh, and Holly, cuz Alex knew I had to get that out of the way. So, knowing I will eventually be Amy's husband is the greatest feeling I've ever known: that constant warmth of thought and passion, of caring and unlimited ideas coursing between my heart and my mind. I could choose to get frustrated and upset with her over being unprepared. But why would I do that? I never understood that type of asshole who would rather make everyone else around him painfully miserable so he might delude himself as above them.
Amy's a fantastic person; an incredible woman; an excellent lover; unbelievable cook and a dear friend. That's how I want her to feel. And for the rest of the day, I'm going to think of clever ways to tell her.
See you when I get back.
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