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Love In The 21st
So in the end, or up to this point anyway, Lorina and I (have) decided that while the preconceived idea to break up one day prior to Valentines day was a good one, an idea of such stellar proportion that it perhaps implied the backing of extra-terrestrial intelligence, we would, much to our mutual and occasionally ecstasy laden agony, carry on this love fest with--what we now are mature (ha) enough to realize is the only reasonable and sustainable course--a day to day lease of careful and loving consideration.
It has been eight months since we initiated this relationship in that sort of secret and sly way that shy people go about things, and, despite the fact of my sometimes debilitating verbal reticence, it seems I have already conveyed to Lorina each and every fact of the forty-plus years of my moderately interesting but let's face it, dull existence. And although I know it is not true that I have conveyed all the idiotic tidbits of my previous and ongoing actuality, I have though already started repeating some of the more mundane bits.
You know, the belt I lost, I got at one of those superstores a couple of years ago, and I had to stand in front of the belt rack for twenty minutes before making what was essentially the same impulse buy I could have made in 90 seconds. And I had to alter it by slicing one of the loops off because it had two loops side by side and esthetically that became a thing unusually, I think it was unusual anyway, displeasing to me.
Lorina nods behind the wheel of her Ford entering Front Royal and politely says yes she remembers me mentioning that. And all of a sudden I have this mini-explosive awareness of all the other crap I have already told her, and how much of it I have retold her, some of it more than twice, and in just eight months(?).
She's been in Dallas with me a couple of times while I visit my aging mother so understands some aspects of my genetic potential.
But maybe it is true that there aren't that many interesting note-worthy factoids in a day, a month, a year, a life. And what explains how some things get stuck in your memory bank and how other things don't? I'm trying to think of something unique I could tell Lorina when I next see her.
Lorina, hey Lorina!
What?
The oatmeal? It was, uh, hot!
Really?
Yeah! And the bowl the oatmeal was in?
Hmm hmm.
When it came in contact with the buckle of my new belt?, which was on the bed beside me so that I can study it for displeasing imperfections? Well, there was a sort of clinking noise!
You don't say.
Yeah, and then I looked out the window? And it was windy looking? So I had to postpone tearing down that dog pen for awhile longer because of windchill factor...Lorina?...Lorina?... LowRINuh!? (She probably just had to go put her contacts in or something).