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A Bubble Bath Will Do It
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A Bubble Bath Will Do It  I adore baths. I know, I know. Some people prefer to shower exclusively. I get it. Who really wants to sit in water for 30 minutes, getting all wrinkled? And if you lay down to read a book you get un-seasonal swimmers ear that you have to explain to the Dr is the consequence of reading ," The Hunger Games" while enjoying a nice soak. But I love my water hot. Too hot to the point where it's likely I'll suffer first degree burns but it cools slowly so I can afford the luxury to lounge longer. The thing about my bath time, much like my morning showers, allows perfect time to think. I can let my mind wander to less than serious matters, such as how the night's episode of " Mom" will pan out, should I get bangs? and what happened to those cute peep toe heels I bought 3 months ago? Frivolity. But then in the off chance that I need some serious thought, the bathtub serves its purpose. Such is the case as last weekend. AS I previously mentioned about Badger, nothing came to fruition back in October. We had tentative plans when he came home from a long work trip, but I never heard from him. At all. So still riding my high from last weekend's disappointment, and unable to enjoy Mr. Bubbles, I banged out a pretty well composed email to him. In short, I told him if there is a minutia of chance he'd see this I felt that considering he knew what all was going on in my life he hurt my feelings, he was douche bag, and that was it. Surprise, surprise in my inbox the next day is an email. From him. Apologizing, giving me some explanation, and offering to keep the lines of communication up. Keep in mind this happens after I swore off men. Just like the last time he has perfect timing. So I, the masochist that I am, emailed him back. We had a pleasant exchange that gradually went back to texting, and tonight an impromptu visit. Because I have no self control. I'd like to be able to say that I left satisfied and at ease about our situation but I'm not. Being in his house with several items left by She Who Shall Not Be Spoken Of made me think about how I probably had a hand in that break up. Not directly, mind you. At no point have I had my tires slashed or come home to find a rabbit boiling away in a stock pot on my stove. But looking around and seeing her things I felt a twinge of remorse. I thought about all the flirting, all the emails and texts. And the one and only time we had hooked up. I have slept around with more married men than I should have. The weight of my actions is slowly creeping up on me. The thing of it is, I know that the likelihood of anything comes out of this other than a consistent FWB is minimum. And I'm ok with that. I know what he has to offer me, and I know what I can put forward. I can bring porn, excellent sex, and entertaining banter. That's what tonight was. And surprisingly if he falls off the radar again oh well. I did everything I could do. Now it's up to the universe to write out the rest of this story. All pretty girls are a trap, a pretty trap, and men expect them to be. |
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I know this sounds weird, but I always expect little of people and potential situations. And I'm never disappointed, but, very rarely, I'm surprised. Smart as a horse and hung like Einstein.
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1/10/2012 11:09 pm |
@ notreadyforyou.... you would write something like that  That made me smile. Yes, it's Catholic guilt perhaps. And after all is said and done with this one...my expectations are minimal. I'm not holding my breath, but I'm also not looking at the glass half empty. All pretty girls are a trap, a pretty trap, and men expect them to be.
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