Moon, June, Prune

The other day, my darling Drummer Boy revealed to me that he had referred to me in conversation as his "fiancee." He said that calling me his girlfriend didn't feel "substantial enough."

Me love you long time.

I'm down with that. I don't dig using the term "boyfriend," either. After all, I'm on the brink of 50, and Drummer Boy is well over the edge. We're not what the young people call "young people." We don't Netflix and chill. And we're not boyfriend/girlfriend.

The kind of note we would pass if we passed notes.

So yeah, I have no problem with Drummer Boy characterizing me as his fiancee. We're going to get married at some point. That technically means we're engaged, right? I mean, he hasn't given me a ring, but what do I need a ring for? For what do I need a ring? Whatever. I feel no need to sport an expensive piece of jewelry that marks me as "claimed." Also, the notion of Drummer Boy - or anyone, really - "claiming" me like the last leftover slice of pizza is...well, let's call it ridiculous, which is nicer than saying totally fucked up.

You is my woman now.

Also, there's been no proposal, per se. Every so often I'll look at him and say something like, "We're going to get married eventually, right?" And he'll say something like, "Yeah." We are silver-tongued mofos, you guys. But here's the thing: We tell each other "I love you" about 30 times a day, every day. It's nauseating. We're complete saps that way. If either of us needs a discrete declaration of engagement at this point to figure out that we're in it for the long haul, we're probably too clueless to sign a marriage license, anyway.

Hoping this is a legally binding contract, honestly.

So I suppose Drummer Boy and I are now affianced. Whatever. On second thought, maybe I'll ask him to buy me a ring - a mood ring, which would be way cooler and also much more practical in our relationship than a diamond. Just saying.

Ain't love grand?