|Just wondering, though.|
In last night's post, I blew off a little steam about being "stood up." Which I'm putting in quotation marks, because I wasn't, really. I'll explain in a minute.
Still, you guys jumped up and closed ranks on me like my own personal squadron of attack-hounds. You came to my defense, you were indignant on my behalf, you said really sweet and supportive things.
I almost died of embarrassment. And my heart grew three sizes that day. (Please don't sue, Estate of Theodore Seuss Geisel.)
This morning I got this message from Drummer Boy:
I put everything together, and I just had to laugh at how ridiculously fortunate I am in this semi-charmed life. (Please don't sue, 90s post-grunge band Third Eye Blind.)
Here's what happened.
Yesterday, as Drummer Boy and I were having lunch together, I mentioned that Precocious Daughter was staying with her dad overnight and I would be spending my first night alone in the apartment. "Hey," said Drummer Boy, "we could hang out."
And we both laughed.
You have to understand, "hanging out" with my darling Drummer Boy has been a stretch goal for way too long. Our time together has been extremely limited, and by necessity has always involved going somewhere: a restaurant, a mall, a bar, whatever. While I was separated-from-but-still-living-with my spouse, my place was not somewhere we could be together, and for various reasons neither was his place.
But now that I've finally moved into my own place, we can stay in. Just relax and watch TV and, you know, hang out. This is a luxury, you guys. On Sunday we watched the Cowboys lose miserably to the Patriots and ordered a pizza and then went for a walk, and it was just the best, most normcore thing ever.
|This came up when I Googled "normcore."|
It was not mom-jeans and tube socks. Just saying.
Full disclosure: I was delighted by the prospect of having some me-time last night. To be able to clean and unpack, and eat when I felt hungry, and run some pointless errands, just for the fun of it and with no fixed timetable. I sort of wanted that more than anything else. So I was fine when Drummer Boy said we would touch base later and see what we wanted to do and left it at that.
Yeah, for about five minutes (or however long it took me to bang out last night's post) I was miffed when the entire evening passed without Drummer Boy pinging me about coming over. But I could have invited him over whenever I felt like it. We are way past the point of standing on ceremony like boy-calls-girl or always-show-up-in-clean-underwear.
The only reason I was miffed for even five minutes is that I'm 25 years deep in being joined at the hip to someone. That's a hard level of interdependency to break free from. From which to break free. Whatever.
Drummer Boy reports that he feels like a schmuck.
I'd feel like a schmuck, too, if I'd been called "the shallow end of the dating pool" or a "narcissistic morn" by my fiercely protective readers.
Thank you for caring, my friends. I'm fine, we're fine, everything is fine.
(If Berkeley Breathed wanted to sue me, that would actually be kind of an honor.)
You guys are awesome.