Going to the Chapel

Do you guys remember me telling you that I have no idea how to be a bride?  Or that I am not your average girl and that I have never once thought about planning a wedding?

Well, I was forced into it last weekend.  Yes Sheri and I have briefly discussed venues, and dresses, but most of the conversation has rotated solely around the food and dessert we'll serve.  Because we like to eat.

We've been engaged for a year, we're still 2 1/2 years away from our projected wedding date (we're aiming for first or second week of July 2016), so we haven't been taking anything too seriously.  And Lord knows we haven't saved a penny.  Kind of hard to do when both of us are unemployed.  Well, she's unemployed and I'm commissioned.  Not that that's any different.

It just seems as though the past few weeks the planning has kicked into high gear.  We found our wedding song, we determined that we are having one of my best friends sing and play piano during our cocktail hour, and we actually honed in on a venue courtesy of my sister.  We're going to check it out when it gets warmer and their renovations on the new dining hall are complete.

I don't want a traditional setting.  I want something different.  While I never really saw myself getting married, I knew at the very least I did not want a banquet hall...but here I am...going to look at a banquet hall....

There is a part of my that's taking this whole planning thing very lightly.  Part of me feels like I shouldn't get too invested, that it's not going to happen.  Not saying we won't be together, but I still don't see myself being a bride.  I can't picture it.

So last weekend I had my monthly visitor and I didn't want to sit on the couch like a bump on a log and watch TV all day.  I started to browse for something fun for us to do that would keep us out and about since it was going to be a mild sunny day.  While on the phone Friday night Sheri said out of nowhere, "Why don't we go look at wedding dresses?"

I laughed nervously.  "Whhhhyyy?"

She chuckled, knowing the panic was inching its way up my neck "Why not?"

"Because it never once crossed my mind to look for a dress."

"Yes, but it doesn't hurt to start looking," she pressed.

"You know one of two things will happen," I said, taking a deep breath.  "Either I am going to have a panic attack and want to rip my dress off like Carrie in Sex and the City, or I'm going to be elated and want to get married like, next week.....my money is on the first scenario."

Thank God Sheri understands me.  "I'm going to be like 'Where is Jennifer going?  Why is she running away from me?'"

I felt my pulse quicken at the thought of stepping into a bridal store.  "Seriously, I can't be the only person who panics like this.  This has to be somewhat normal, right?"

"Yes," she said, "you're called 'runaway brides.'"  I took a few deep breaths.  "You alright over there?"

"Yeah," I said unconvincingly, "just trying not to hyperventilate."

"We don't have to do it if you don't want to.  It's just a suggestion."

"No no, it's fine," I assured her.

She was quiet for a few seconds.  Then she said "You know they're going to think we're mother and daughter."

"Haha, yeah.  I'll make sure that they know you're the Other Bride."

Even though the topic changed my mind was still whirling the rest of the night.  I kept thinking how surreal this all was, wedding planning, dress shopping.  I never thought that would be me.  Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

I woke up Saturday morning with my stomach in knots.  *I'm going to try on wedding dresses today.  I am not going to panic.  I am going to be happy* I was chanting to myself.  I got in the shower, made myself resemble a put-together woman, and waited anxiously for Sheri to get here.  My stomach was doing flips, my face felt flushed and I swear I could feel each individual hive popping out on my chest and neck.  I was still getting ready when she walked in and she sat down at my computer with a devilish smile.  "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it.  Just turn your computer speakers on," she said slyly.

Back in the bathroom putting on makeup I hear an unmistakable song start up.  *Going to the chapel and we're, gonna get maaarriiieed...*  I poked my head around the corner and she sat at my computer with the widest smile on her face.  I rolled my eyes and finished getting ready.

We got in the car and headed to breakfast where I rambled on about nothing at all.  Sheri sat across from me, slightly bemused, slightly ready to chase me if I bolt.  We got in the car and headed east to David's Bridal and I assured her that I was perfectly fine.  We walked in and I could feel her watching me, gauging my reaction.  I walked confidently up to the greeter and asked if we could try on dresses.  Much to my dismay we could not since we did not have an appointment and she handed me a dress catalog and we made an appointment for a week later.

With adrenaline surging through me I suggested that we go to the Macy's Bridal Salon at the mall that we had just passed to see if we could just walk in there.  We were able to, and we were the only ones there.  This young girl who was very sweet helped us and picked out 4 dresses for me to try.  Sheri took her place in her seat and we went into the dressing room where I said "Just to clear up any confusion, that's not my mother sitting out there.  That's my fiance."

She smiled as she helped me into my first dress.  "I knew that.  I never thought for one second she was your mother."

"Oh good," I said as I tried to ignore the fact that I was standing there completely naked save for a pair of underwear. "We get mistaken for mother and daughter a lot so I didn't want there to be any confusion."  I tried not to make eye contact with her since my bare breasts were doing that just fine for me.  She grunted as she tried to fit me into a dress that was obviously far too small for me.  "It's ok, I don't need to breathe apparently," I joked.

"Obviously," she huffed, "this won't be an issue when the dress is sized for you."

"Good to hear.  Because I'd like to be able to eat on my wedding day and not bust."

Somehow she managed to stuff me in (by the way if you ever want to feel just terrible about yourself?  Go try on wedding dresses)

I stared at myself in the mirror in a dress of lace and taffeta.  I joked that I was going to pull a Carrie and she laughed knowingly.  I swished a little and stood there for a few more seconds and said quietly "I'm in a wedding dress!  And I'm not panicking!"  She smiled and asked if I was ready to show Sheri.  I nodded and she opened the door.  I expertly hiked up my skirts and tip toed into the showroom.

I saw Sheri's face and she wasn't impressed.  And I turned to the girl and said "See, this is why she's here.  Yes I'm wearing the dress but she has to look at me in it and so help me if I see her snarl her lip while I'm walking down the aisle I'm turning around."

I tried on the second dress which had a lace up corset.  I was impressed with how much more flattering it was on me and when I walked out I saw the approving look in Sheri's eyes. "That's much better than the first one."

Standing up on the podium I eyed the dress up and down.  From the sweetheart neckline, to the lace covered bodice I started to tear up.  If I start to cry it sends Sheri into a panic.  She sat upright and asked incredulously "Why are you crying?!"

I wiped my eyes and said "Because I'm in a dress!  And I look pretty!"  That made everyone laugh.

The third dress I was going to try on I didn't even get it up over my hips.  It was a stretch when I saw it on the hanger but I thought I'd go for it.  Nope.  She was just about to start closing me up and I said "Nope nope nope, not even going to bother."  She laughed and said at least I know what I want.

The fourth dress I tried on....I loved.  It is so light and comfortable, it has a slit up the right side lined with lace and the taffeta showing, and plus it has straps that criss-cross on my back.  I poked my head around the corner and flashed Sheri a blinding smile.  When I came into full view she nodded her head in approval. "Now THAT I like."

I looked at her "I know, I love it too."  There was a mother and daughter trying to figure out what veil to buy and they commented on how nice it looked on me.  I stared at myself in the mirror, picking out details that I'd customize to myself.  I stepped off the podium and shuffled towards Sheri and grabbed her face in my hands and gave her a kiss.  When I pulled away she look shocked and her eyes flashed in the direction of the mom.  I smirked at her and said "I love you my fiance."

I told her that I wouldn't let anyone think she was my mother.

Flash forward to today.  I wanted my family to be there while I was trying on dresses.  That's what normal brides do, right?  So when we made the appointment for today for David's Bridal I texted my two sisters, my sister-in-law, and my mother to clear their schedules, we were going wedding dress shopping!

I didn't anticipate it being as difficult as it was.  I had picked out 5 dresses out of the catalog over the course of the week, knowing that we were on a bit of a time crunch because my sister was bringing her baby and had a birthday party to go to later this afternoon.  I didn't want to take too long, I know it can be exhausting to sit there and see dress after dress after dress (trust me, it ain't no picnic writing about it either, just as arduous!)

Everyone had an opinion, none of them agreed on a dress.  And the dresses I loved, they didn't like, or the dresses they liked (one of them Sheri saw on a mannequin coming in and thought it was a gorgeous dress) I did NOT like at all.  And the ONE dress I loved, that had such gorgeous lace detail with crystals interwoven and was SO flattering, irritated my skin so much that it was impossible to wear it for a few minutes, let alone hours.

I walked away not feeling confident in anything and having my heart still set on that dress we saw in Macy's.  My one sister and SIL had to leave so it was just Sheri, my oldest sister, and my mother going to Macy's.  I knew they'd love the dress and once they saw me in it that they'd understand why I didn't like anything at David's Bridal.

I ran into the store, I quick got changed with the girl who helped me last week.  She zipped up the dress and I felt like it was perfect.  She criss-crossed the straps and I waded through the sea of estrogen to find Sheri and my mother and sister in chairs in a makeshift viewing area.  I stood up and smiled broadly and waited for the Oooos and Aahhhhs and *Oh Jennifer it's perfect!*  All I got was a scrunched up face from my mother and a "It's alright."  from my sister.  I was completely crestfallen and asked my mother why she didn't like it.

"I don't like the straps like that.  You look like a farmer wearing overalls."

The girl seeing my face said "Well you can fix the straps so they're normal going down her back."  She readjusted them and my mother said "Oh I like it that way much better."

I mumbled to the girl "Well I'm the one who has to wear it. I like that they were different with the straps in the X across my back."

"Normally I don't like to go against the mother of the bride but I do have to say you have to be comfortable in what you're wearing," she whispered back.

I stomped back into the dressing room still reeling from the rejection.  I looked at the dress one more time, by far the most favorite and top contender, but not something I'm 1000% sold on yet.  My fear is that we'll buy it and I'll find something better within the next year, or that we don't buy it in the hopes of finding something better and then they discontinue making the dress.

Is it a gamble I'm willing to take?  I might see what else is out there in other locations before I make this decision.  Is it the one?  It's the most flattering and most comfortable, I know that.  But is that enough?  Will it photograph well?  Will I stand out?  Will it be right for the venue we choose?....which we have no idea what it'll be yet.  Should I wait to find out where we're getting married so I can choose the best dress for the location, or should I choose the location based on the dress?  Or does none of it matter?

This, ladies, is why I never thought I'd get married.  Because I knew it'd be too stressful.  If I'm this bad 2+ years out...imagine how it'll be closer to the date.

The meaning in the make-up

"What should I wear tomorrow?"

This is the nightly statement that we hear from Sheri's youngest, Jillian, who is now eleven and a half.  It is becoming glaringly obvious that Jill will be very concerned with her looks, unlike her older sister Hannah who just cares if she's comfortable and warm.

"Do you know why I like to wear my hair up now?"  She asked me the other night while she was decorating a wall in her room with cut outs from teen-y magazines.  She pointed to one of the cookie-cutter teenage heartthrobs where he stated he used to like girls who wore their hair down but as he got older he likes them to wear their hair up, messy and disheveled.

"Jill," I said, "you can't start wearing your hair or your clothes like the way some random famous boy says he likes it."

"Oh I know, I mean I like it that way too and all the kids at school say I look good with my hair up but really," she points to the picture again, "I put it up because he said he likes it up."

This is what it means to have a Tween girl who is trying to find her identity.  When I met Sheri Jillian was only 3 and Hannah was just 10.  Hannah (and I love you, child) had a few awkward years growing up.  She was heavier and under the strict thumb of her grandmother who dictated what she wore.  She didn't start losing weight until late middle school and by then all she cared about was her latest solo in band or the upcoming musical.  We never had to worry about her succumbing to peer pressure because she was always above it all with a very solid head on her shoulders and a distinct goal in her sights.  Even after she sprouted up to be now taller and thinner than me her physical appearance wasn't a top priority.

Jillian is proving to be more of a wild-child.  We kind of always knew she would be because for sisters they couldn't be more different.  Where Hannah wore too short jeans with white clunky socks and white sneakers, Jillian wants to wear her skinny jean jeggings tucked into her furry brown boots.  Never once did Hannah ever show interest in wearing makeup (and quite often yelling at me for putting all that processed crap on my eyes) whereas Jillian has started to ask if she could wear some.

This topic came up at my family's Thanksgiving where Sheri and the girls were not present.  I was speaking idly to my sister about how fast the girls are growing up, what with Hannah a freshman in college and Jillian asking if her mother would allow her to wear makeup.  One of my older cousins who has two girls, one a freshman in high school and the other just into elementary school piped up that she saw no harm in letting Jillian wear a little bit of lipgloss and some clear mascara.  That way she could feel as though she was putting on makeup but really it doesn't show up at all.  For the record both of her daughters wear makeup, the older one wearing eyeliner and mascara at least for the past two years or so, if not maybe three.  Lip gloss?  Sure.  I see no harm in that.  But mascara?  No.  Not at 11.  I quickly dismissed my cousin's suggestion of clear mascara and I said "No, absolutely not.  There is no reason why an 11 year old should be wearing makeup."

"Oh.  Thanks Jen.  Thanks for telling me how it should be."  She replied shortly.  It hadn't occurred to me until after that sentence was out of my mouth that she could interpret as me indirectly stating that I didn't think her children should be wearing makeup.  And for the record, no, I don't think they should.  The freshman in high school, that's one thing- but my younger cousin is 9....maybe 10.....or did she just turn 9?  And I don't know if she allows her to wear make up to school, but either the case may be, and I may be old fashion and to each their own, but I completely agree with Sheri when she says putting makeup on a girl that young is like telling them that they are not pretty enough on their own and they need makeup to make themselves better.  We believe it's a total self-esteem killer and a very slippery slope.  Honestly, what good is it to tell a child "Oh here's some mascara to put on your eyes, but it won't show up and no one but you will be able to tell, but at least you can feel like you're wearing makeup."  That makes zero sense to me.  And it may be a stretch but I'd equate clear makeup with marijuana being a "gateway drug".  It's a gateway to a young girl saying to themselves "this isn't good enough, I want the real thing."

Some of the girls in Jillian's grade are already wearing a face full of makeup. I'm sorry but I think that's just a poor decision on the parents' part.  Why on earth would you let your young child who's only in sixth grade out of the house looking like a miniature street walker?

There's the other side to Jillian though.  There's the tomboy in her who we have a difficult time getting to shower, or who just wants to wear sweatpants tucked into her boots to school, and who I actually have to force to put vaseline onto her chapped lips because she refuses to use chapstick.  She sat in my car on Sunday on the way home from  her father's house licking her lips and making them red around her entire mouth.  I offered her my chapstick and she snarled her lip and said "I don't like using that stuff."  Later that night she showed me the entire shelf she has of different scented body creams and sprays, a tube of glittery lotion, and all the different lipglosses she has but doesn't use.  So while she may be testing the water now on the whole wearing makeup thing, I don't think she's actually ready for it.  Which is good for us.  More so Sheri - she has already deferred any and all "girly" scenarios to me (clothes shopping, hair, makeup). Of the women I have met in Sheri's family all of them wear very little to absolutely no make-up.

Which brings me to a completely different topic.

I do not live with Sheri yet.  I obviously do not have a gigantic say in how the girls are raised and one could probably refer to me as an interloper.  I honestly don't know where I stand with Sheri and her children - I know she values my opinion while I'm there and I discipline and reprimand the girls.  I've been there to take Jillian to the emergency room when she's been extremely sick, I've been to every play, concert, and school event for both of them.  I've helped Jillian with homework and I went to parents' weekend at Hannah's college.  She introduces Sheri and me as "her parents".  Jillian will go back and forth to calling me her step-mom to almost step-mom and she tries to play Sheri and I together like any child would their parents.  If Sheri says no she asks me the same question hoping for a different answer.  I feel as though I have had some influence over their lives and I love them so intensely.  But I did not bare them, I have not been there since day one to raise them, and I am not part of the day-to-day interactions with them.  So at what point do other's consider me a parent?  Is it when I move it?  Is it when Sheri and I get married?  Why is there a stigma against step-parents that compartmentalize us into "not real parents"?

I ask that because my cousin's dismissive tone on Thanksgiving really bothered me.  Yes, she could have taken what I was saying as a slight against her parenting skill.  It wasn't, in the least.  Like I said, it didn't register that she could have taken it personally until after I said it.  But to say to me in the tone of what do you know, you're not a parent hurt, because while I am not their birth mother, I'd like to think that on some plane I am a step-mother.  So when does my opinion become valid?

Mystery Ride

“I have something planned for us when you stay here next week.  It’s going to be fuuuuuu-uuunnn!  Be prepared to get dirty and maybe a little wet.  And you’ll need a change of clothes”

Last week was our annual co-habitation when she takes her mother and youngest daughter down to her brother’s for a much needed break.  We had planned to go to the Poconos last Thursday to fish at the lake that Sheri grew up fishing on.  I got to thinking what’s around the Poconos that we’ve been wanting to do that I could get dirty doing that I’ll need a change of clothes.

“Zip-lining?” I asked.

“No.  More fun than that.”

What was more fun than zip-lining?  “White Water Rafting?”  

“Nooooo.”

That’s it, I was out of ideas.  Apparently I’m not that imaginative.  Those were the two things we’ve been talking about doing for years so I had no idea what else she had up her sleeve.  I took a stab in the dark, “Paintballing?”

“We’re not in an episode of Big Bang Theory, Jennifer.” 

I mulled over it for the rest of the week, bragging to my coworkers about how my awesome fiancé is going to surprise me with a Mystery Ride.  Fishing was then removed from our itinerary so we’d just be doing the thing I didn’t know we were going to do yet. 

I packed my bags on Wednesday to go up to the house for the next 5 days.  Our reservation was for 10:30 Thursday morning and the location was just about two hours away.  Sheri, for some ungodly reason, wanted to be awake at 5:45 to get ready.  We nestled into bed Wednesday night and I feel asleep quickly now that I have ear plugs that work (Thank GOD).  At some point in the middle of the night I woke up to be bed vibrating with her snoring.  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure that Sheri was still sleeping there and not some fire breathing dragon.  I would have normally tried to suffer through it at go back to sleep but not knowing what was in store for me that day I shooed her out to her daughter’s bed.

I am not used to sharing my bed with someone and as such I am not used to being woken up.  I’m dead asleep and all of a sudden I feel a hand grip my upper left arm.  Startled, I shouted and flailed about until I realized where I was.  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled as I glanced at the clock.  5:47.

“Geett upp!!  Today’s the day!!!” She clapped excitedly.  “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Mmffff” was my response.  My head was already covered back with the pillow.  Awake so abruptly I couldn’t fall asleep so I got up, got dressed in my crappy clothes, and took her dogs for a walk.

We left early where her neighbor called across the front lawn to her “Remember you’re not 20 anymore!”  So this was going to be something physical.

We grabbed some breakfast at the deli where I was quizzing her about what we were doing.  “Is it just going to be us or a group of people?”

“We’ll be with a group.”

I hadn’t shaved that morning.  “Will anyone be touching me or grabbing my legs?”

“No.  No one will be seeing your legs but you.”

I paused and thought for a second, “is it kayaking?”

“Jennifer, you know me and water.  If I’m doing anything with water it has to be at least 80 degrees.”  She continued “It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years.  Last year was about you, this year I wanted to something fun that I want to do, too.”

Racking my brain I tried to think on our past conversations.  “Are we going off-roading?”

She smiled “Close.”

“ATVing?”  

Her smile got bigger as she nodded.  Her blue eyes flashed with childlike excitement.  I clapped and jumped up and down.  I wrapped my arms around her and lay my head on her shoulder and said “Aww baby.  I’ve been saying that we need to make memories and do something fun.  I’m excited, this will be awesome.”  

It took us just under two hours to get to The Lost Trails just past the Poconos in PA.  We were extremely early so we sat in the car and talked as we wondered what it’d be like.  We checked in and waited for them to bring the ATVs outside.  They lined up 5 green ATVs with a blue one in the front (for our guide) and Sheri clapped my leg and jiggled in her seat like a kid on Christmas morning.  It ended up being the guide, two teenagers, me, Sheri, and the teen’s father in the back.  I sat on the ATV and nervously looked at all the controls – I won’t lie and said I was a bit terrified and had NO idea what I was in for.

They gave us a quick rundown of the machines and then took us on the practice course so we could get a feel for the navigation.  I pretty much was scared out of my wits.  The second these monster wheels lurched over the small boulders I nearly lost control and ended up in a tree.  It was so much harder to steer than I was expecting and I felt like I was going to tip over.  To say it was rough was an understatement.  I was going so slow that I lost what direction the guide and the two kids in front of me went.  We were getting jostled all around and I tried to focus on staying straight and on the path but even over the roar of the engines and the helmet all I could hear was Sheri laughing behind me.  Less than a minute later we were off the practice course and our guide shouted “Alright follow me we’re going to the main trail!”

I breathed heavily, nervous, and thinking that I couldn’t possibly do this.  I was in over my head, and I was going to be flipping over my head!

I struggled to keep up as we drove up to the trail.  Sheri was shouting behind me “JENNIFER!  GO FASTER!”  I glanced behind me and she was right on my bumper while the guide and the teens were probably a ¼ mile in front of me.  I was so scared to go faster.  

We hit the trail again and we were bouncing everywhere.  It was a steep incline, my thumb kept slipping off the throttle, and I swear at one point I was over on two wheels.  This was the anti-fun.  I thought I was seconds away from rolling over and off the mountain and getting severely hurt.  Still, I focused on the path in front of me, trying to direct my ATV to the path of least resistance.

And then we hit our first mud puddle.  Being 4th in line allowed me to see were the drivers in front of me were going and when I saw the wave of dark muddy water rush up like a wave I got excited.  I gunned my throttle and hit the puddle head on and the cold murky water immediately soaked my shoes and splattered me up to my shoulders.  A second later I heard Sheri shriek and laugh as she hit the water and got just as dirty.  In that instant a smile spread across my face and I was all in.

There had been a storm the night before and there was a ton of flash flooding and run-off.  These “puddles” were sometimes over two feet deep and the ATVs smoked as we trudged through them.  The dirtier we got, the happier we were.  Surrounded by trees on both sides we trekked up the side of the mountain (I was fully aware of what goes up, must come down).  When we hit a smooth spot I’d look behind me and see Sheri smiling from ear to ear as she was getting rocked side to side.  

At the end of the trail we came to an 800 foot tunnel carved directly into the mountain that we plowed through water up to the bottom of the ATV.  The tunnel was pitch black except for the lights on our ATVs and probably 15 degrees cooler than the air outside.  The echo of the engines was deafening and I wanted to reach out and touch the wet, cool rock that surrounded us.  At the end we did a u-turn and headed back the way we came.

A little bit down the ways we pulled over to give us a break and walk around.  We took our helmets off and Sheri and I wandered a few feet away from the group to look around the woods.  It was so quiet you could hear a leaf crunch a hundred feet away.  We were awestruck and said we must do this again but in the fall where the mountain would be painted with gold, red, and orange.  

We drove back, making sure to hit every single mud puddle on the way back.  When we stopped we had mud covering our arms and legs and speckling the exposed part of our neck and faces despite the helmets.  Sheri was glowing and I was exhilarated.  

We took pictures and then on the way home stopped at American Candle in the Poconos where we both always shopped when we were younger.  Filthy and starving we ate at Red Robin where the only thing we talked about was the expedition and how we can’t wait to do that again.

The rest of the week our days were filled with preparing to take her oldest daughter to college on Saturday.  Friday we purchased new furniture for her bedroom and I made a delicious steak dinner where it was just the three of us.  Then her daughter had her best friend over where we made a fire and roasted s’mores.  My heart broke for her as she stared past the fire.  She was terrified of going to college and leaving her friends and the life she’s made for the past 18 years behind.  Her friend hugged her close and she put her head on his shoulder.  I scooted closer to Sheri as we swung gently and listened to the sounds of the crickets and katydids.  

Saturday we were on the road by 7:30 and it took us three hours to drive up to UMass.  Hannah kept saying “I’m going to throw up” and “blegh” the entire way.  We assured her she’d be alright once she settles in and finds a routine.  She’d respond with a whimper.  We pulled up to the college and she said “I wanna go home!” but then we saw college kids jumping up and down shouting “BAND CAMP!!”  She looked a little taken aback but maybe even comforted by seeing so many people who were welcoming the incoming freshman for band.  

We only had a few minutes to unpack her stuff and say goodbye, which was probably for the best.  Had it been more drawn out I know it would have been more emotional and I was struggling not to cry as it were.  I know she’s not biologically my child but I have seen her grow up and blossom into such a beautiful, intelligent, talented, and funny young woman.  I hugged her tight and we pulled away.  I looked at Sheri who was holding it together remarkably well and said “I miss Hannah already.”  

Saturday night Sheri and I were snuggled into bed watching Big Bang Theory and it was quiet.  I missed Hannah’s laugh and her spouting out the most random and useless facts.  I was also thanking my lucky stars that I happened to fall into this wonderful family who has welcomed me with open arms (once they found out about me).  I curled up next to Sheri and maybe it was because I was exhausted from the week, or maybe it was because I was so content, but I fell into a deep sleep.  Apparently so deep that Sheri even heard me snoring a little in the morning.  

We painted Hannah’s room and moved Sheri’s bedroom furniture in there in preparation for redoing her bedroom.  We’re painting, getting new carpet, and all new furniture.  And now when Hannah comes home from college she’ll have a real grown up bedroom (that she better keep clean.  I have already warned her).  

I went home Sunday afternoon and took a shower and sat on my couch.  I texted Sheri that I almost wanted to get back in my car and drive back up there.  I have enjoyed staying with her so much this past month that I think my fears of us living together are completely unfounded.  We have so much we want to do to make that house our home, and now knowing that I can sleep next to her and not want to smother her with a pillow is a big saving grace.  

I’m excited for what our next chapter holds.  I just want to hurry it up and have it be here already.

Labels

What is it about sexuality and gender that gets everyone all in a tizzy?  I often torment myself by reading the barbaric comments on equal rights articles about how people don’t want “gayness” shoved down their throats (no pun intended).  They often say “I don’t care what you do, just keep it in your bedroom”   or “Homosexuality is wrong, but I’m not a bigot because I have gay friends”. 

What I don’t understand is how people can actually think that in fighting for equal rights that we’re trying to shove our sexuality in their face.  Do those same people think twice about being on a date with their husband or wife?  Or just a mindless, autonomous gesture like a man putting his hand on his wife’s back to guide her through a door?  Or a woman being out with her child(ren) and it’s assumed that she has a husband at work while she runs errands?

And I’m guilty of it too.  I see a woman with a big wedding band on with a tot in tow and I automatically assume she has a husband.  Chances are I’m probably right but there are women with children who are married to another woman.  I have a friend from HS who had 3 children with a man and she is now married to a woman and they’re raising her children together.

Hell, people see Sheri and I walking side by side and 99.9% of the time they either think to themselves, or ask us if, we’re mother and daughter.  I don’t fault them for that necessarily, she is 17 years older than me and I do look suspiciously much like her oldest daughter (people mistake us for sisters a lot), but we laugh our awkward laugh and say no, we’re together.  And 100% of the time they stumble through an apology or give a knowing smile and nod. 

A friend of mine recently wrote an entry speaking about how uncomfortable she is with the label “lesbian” just because she is involved with another woman.  I have written about it here before and I feel the need to reiterate, not just to you, but to everyone I encounter. 

I do not like being called a lesbian because I am in a relationship with a woman. In fact, I detest it.  It’s really my family, from lack of understanding, who are determined to lump me into that category.  And maybe it’s easier for them when they’re talking to someone Oh yeah, I have a sister who is a lesbian or My sister is gay.  It’s the end of that conversation then, no further explanation is needed.  It’s understood that I’m attracted to girls.  But if they were to say I have a sister who is bisexual, there would be follow up questions.  I have explained to them and friends, TIME AND TIME AGAIN, that I define myself as bisexual.  Just because I am with a man does not make me straight, or if I am with a woman that does not make me a lesbian.  I am physically attracted to both men and women.  Sheri is the first woman I’ve been in a relationship with but is not the first woman I’ve encountered sexually.  

I knew I was different when I was 11.  I was watching “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” on VHS and I would pause and then run slow-mo through the scene where the chick strips on the diving board.  I desperately wanted to see her titties, although I didn’t know quite why.  My mother was in the kitchen and saw the scene on repeat about 5 times and yelled “JENNIFER!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” 

A few years later it was NYE, my parents and uncle & aunt were downstairs and I was up in my parents’ room watching “Showgirls”.  Remember that god-awful movie that Elizabeth Berkley did to break away from her good-girl image of Jessie from Saved by the Bell?  Yeah.  I apparently had no cinematic taste at 13 either but hell if it wasn’t hot.  I heard my father’s footsteps coming up the stairs and I switched over to National Geographic where they were doing some special on snakes.  He looked at me weird and hit the “last” button on the remote and it was the scene of her thrashing passionately in the pool.  Queue most embarrassing, stumbling, stuttering explanation ever.  It probably was as bad as a teenage boy caught masturbating by his mother.

Fast forward to my later teenage years when I had my first girl kiss (15), my first sexual encounter with a girl (also 15-not that I had ANY idea what I was doing) I kind of knew that I was into girls.  But I was also ENTIRELY boy crazy.  I had boyfriends left and right, throughout all of high school I was the “blow-job queen” (a nickname Sheri gave me when she learned of my love of giving BJs.  It’s a power thing).  I only lost my virginity at 18 but I was well experienced with how to handle the man-hood before that.  I was labeled a “dyke” the first month into my freshman year of high school.  And let me tell you, there was nothing more socially crippling than having seniors, who you have NO idea who the hell they were, calling you a dyke.  That’s probably why I made it such a point to be such a flirt with boys and pull out their junk any chance I could get, even if it were on a baseball field or in the woods somewhere.  I had to dispel those rumors and my reputation of being a slut be damned.  If I was a slut with boys, then I couldn’t possibly be into girls.

But I was.  I couldn’t deny that part of me no matter how hard I tried.  I finally became comfortable in my own skin when I went to college.  I started to accept the fact that I was attracted to other girls.  Hell, I was 20 and on my first date with my first real boyfriend when I proudly announced that I was bi (because I thought that was a turn on for guys-how naïve I was).  I explained to him, even though he didn’t ask, that I was only sexually attracted to girls.  I’d NEVER be in a relationship with one.  Oh God no, that was the worst thing I could have done.  I told him I needed to be the girl in the relationship and I could never deal with the cattiness and bitchiness of another girl.

Fast forward 3 years and I meet Sheri.  I fell for her emotionally before I did physically.  I needed to be around her, I needed her like she was a drug.  Our level of obsession with one another was unhealthy to say the least.  We look back on our behavior then and wonder who the hell those two people were.  But she opened me up to a world of possibilities that I never thought I’d even WANT to experience with another woman. 

But to call me a lesbian because I’m marrying a woman is no more less than me calling you Spanish if you’re from Brazil.  You’re not, so why would I call you that?

That’s what the majority of the population does not get in this country.  Everyone is so quick to throw a label on to something they don’t understand.  If a girl likes another girl she must be a lesbian.  If a boy likes another boy he must gay.  If you’re transgender then you’re just fucked up in the head.  There is no in-between, there is no all-inclusiveness.  We want to sort people into categories like they belong in a file cabinet.  No one can be two things, or all things.  And that drives me nuts, and makes me sad.

Don’t question my sexuality and what I identify with.  I don’t question yours, nor does yours have any effect on mine.  So the next time you say keep your preferences in the bedroom I’ll remind you that you don’t keep yours there, so why should I?  

Desperate Times Calls For Desperate Measures

“Oh my God, this road is horrible!”

I pressed my nose to the cracked window sucking in fresh air.  Sheri was barreling down the Saw Mill Parkway which is a lengthy two lane highway running through New York full of S-curves.  I was on the verge of seeing spots in front of my eyes I was getting so car sick.  Sweat was starting to pool in the small of my back and I wrenched off my sneakers and socks to try to cool my rising body temperature.

“Aarrruugghhh.  I’m getting sticky.  I hate this road!  I am about to be sick!” 

Sheri was howling with laughter in the driver seat.  “You look like a dog.”

I wiped my clammy palms across her face in retaliation.

We were only about 40 minutes into our three-and-a-half-hour journey up to Massachusetts to take an official tour of the college Hannah, her oldest daughter, was 99.9% sure she would be attending this fall.  I am always Sheri’s co-pilot on road trips as she has absolutely no sense of direction whatsoever.  I am responsible for reading out directions and giving her a heads up of our next move.  “We only have 4 more miles on this road, thank God.”

I kept the window open to let the cool air wash over my face as I focused on taking deep cleansing breaths.  Hannah and her friend Vince were in the backseat watching a movie, equally amused by my churning stomach. 

I couldn’t help but laugh myself.  I was playing it up quite a bit because I will do anything to make Sheri laugh, even if it is at my own expense. 

We had been looking forward to this weekend since we booked it.  Sheri and I had our own room while she was allowing Hannah to room with Vince. 

I addressed the moppy-haired boy in the back seat.  “You know Vince, I’m actually surprised your parents let you come.  My parents would have never let me go away with a boy when I was your age.”

“That’s because I had a long discussion with them,” Hannah answered for him.  She spoke for him a lot that weekend.  “I knew when I asked Mom that the only reason she said yes was because she thought his parents would say no.  And the only reason Vince said yes was because he thought his parents would say no, so I went directly to the source and laid out every reason why he should have been able to come.”

“So you got exactly what you wanted,” I said.  Sheri and I exchanged knowing smiles.  “I have NO idea where she got that from.”

Sheri smiled broadly. “I don’t know, either.  Certainly not from me.”

The rest of the trip was uneventful.  The rest of the roads weren't too twisty so my stomach stayed exactly where it should have been.  Sheri was checking us into our hotel while Hannah, Vince, and I attacked the fresh made cookies.  The girl behind the desk handed her the two sets of room keys.  Sheri asked “They’re both identical rooms, right?”  The girl smiled and answered her yes.

“Wait.  You mean to tell me that you booked two rooms with a king size bed?  You are allowing them to share a bed??”

Hannah bluntly point out “Jennifer, he’s gay.  And if I were going to sleep with him I would have done it the six months he was my boyfriend.”  

Sheri piped in while walking towards the elevator half addressing me, half addressing the women behind the desk.  “Yeah, and she’s on the pill.  But if I become a grandmother in nine months she has a lot of explaining to do!”

My eyes grew wide as I exclaimed in disbelief “SHERI!”  I wanted to die from embarrassment. 

I want to do that a lot.

The elevator doors closed behind us and she said “What?”

“I can’t believe you said that!”

She laughed as she does when she knows her words flew past what little filter she has.  “I’ll apologize to them when we leave for dinner.” 

Before we entered our rooms I shook my finger at both of them “There is to be NO hanky panky.  And you never know when we’ll come barging in.  Mark my words!”

I don’t particularly trust that a teenage boy is 100% gay when he has a hotel room and a king sized bed with a teenage girl.

Our room closed and I smiled seductively at Sheri and threw my arms around her neck.  I surveyed the room and appreciated having a king sized bed and a pull-out couch.  I knew that if Sheri was snoring too badly I had some place to escape to, unlike the prior weekend.

The prior weekend was Sheri’s birthday and she surprised me by sleeping over after I was badgering her I’ve been in my apartment for two-and-a-half years and she only slept over once.  The novelty quickly wore off when we couldn’t get comfortable in bed and her snoring had me up at 1:30 in the morning grabbing my pillows and fan to retreat to the couch in the living room.

This weekend was supposed to be a do-over, complete with kinky hotel sex!

We traveled a couple of miles down the road into the nearby town to find a restaurant.  It was a bustling college down with shops and restaurants lining both sides of the streets.  We couldn’t find parking in the lot by the restaurant we wanted to eat in so we proceeded to drive around the city block.  Three times.  We ended up right back where we were.  Sheri pulled into the lot that had valet parking and started talking to the attendant.  The three of us climbed out of the car waiting for Sheri to get her ticket.  She started to walk away when the guy called after her puzzled “Hey….are you going to park your car?” 

She scrambled back and said apologetically “Sorry, we’re from Jersey.  When I see a sign for valet parking I assume that it means you’ll park the car for me.”

The young guy chuckled and said “Yeah, it means the same thing here.  Except it doesn’t say “valet”, it says “validate.”

She burst out laughing and I just shook my head.  When she parked the car and was running down the lot still laughing I took her hand and lovingly said “You’re so dumb.”

Dinner was delicious in the bustling quaint steakhouse.  We had Hannah take our picture (the one I posted) to celebrate it being seven years since our first kiss.  We had to take about six different pictures because in order to get Sheri to actually smile I have to pinch her otherwise she looks frightened.

We went back to the hotel were we said goodnight to Hannah and Vince.  Sheri turned on the shower and we slipped in together.  I do think we may be the only couple in the history of couples that when I say we shower together, I mean we only showered!  Majority of the shower is one of us vying for a spray of hot water or getting soap on the other when it’s already been rinsed off.  The most sound you’ll hear out of one of our joint showers is laughter or Sheri howling that the tile is cold against her backside as she shimmies past me. 

It’s the events after the shower that you have to watch out for.

I slipped into my lacy pink negligee that I brought for the occasion and climbed on top of her.  There was no foreplay.  It had been nearly a month since the last time we had sex and I wanted to get right down to business.  And we did.

And it was an epic fail.

My part was fine.  It was great.  But I’m not difficult.  But when it came time to Sheri it was a little more precarious.  Her stomach hurt and she kept telling me not to jostle her too much, and I felt that her mind wasn’t in the moment but rather on her youngest child who was back home and sick.  I was in a groove and going along great but then my arm cramped up and started to burn.  We got into another position but after a while she tore away from me and said “It’s not gonna happen.”  Frustrated and tired with my arm muscles on fire I got up from bed and put on my pajamas. 

That night Sheri’s snoring wasn’t horrible.  It was on the lower side of the decibel chart but I still couldn’t sleep.  I took two Advil PM to try to help me sleep but all it did was make me loopy because I could not fall asleep.  The pillows were uncomfortable, I was either too hot or too cold, and every time I laid on my right side my arm would ache.  I somehow got about 4 hours of total sleep and I knew Friday night I’d hopefully be so tired I’d just pass out.

Except on Friday after the tour of the college we were supposed to head two hours east to the Boston suburbs to see another college on Saturday.  When we woke up Friday morning I flipped on the news and saw all that had happened in Boston and Watertown in the middle of the night.  Knowing that where we were going was maybe only 30 minutes away I grew very nervous and anxious.  All throughout the day I kept checking my phone for updates and even argued with Sheri that if this guy wasn’t caught by Friday afternoon we should reconsider going to Boston.

But of course I’m engaged to an Aries.  My fears were waved away with her hand as an overreaction.  “We’ll be fine.  What, do you think the bomber is checking into the Hilton?”

“Nooo, but the Hilton is right off the highway that runs right into Watertown!  What if they don’t get him?  What if he escapes?  What is to say he’s even still there?  I just don’t think it’s smart to have us to right into harm’s way!”  I have inherited my mother’s theatrics.  She was so worried about me she told me to stay in Amherst and she’d drive up to get me.  Now that worried I was not.

Both Sheri and Hannah rolled their eyes at my concerns.  Sheri is the type of person that if the bomber were standing in front of her with a bomb strapped to his chest she’d yell at him to get out of her way. 

Mid-afternoon, after the tour of the campus, and after this guy still hadn’t been found, we started to head east.  I had my feet up on the dash and my gaze on the passing landscape.  Sheri’s hand was resting on my left leg with her thumb making small strokes.  Every time I glanced at her she tried to give me a small reassuring smile.  Exhausted and feeling stubborn, I set my mouth in a hard line and looked back out the window.

We checked into the hotel and made our way to our rooms and to meet for dinner at 6.  Sheri said she was going to lay down for a bit and that if I woke her up before 5:15 she’d smother me with a pillow.  I said good, that maybe if she did that I’d get some sleep!

We both laid down and I sank into the bed.  I closed my eyes for a few minutes and tried to let my tension out of my body.  We made it safe to the hotel.  Authorities were pretty sure the guy was still in Watertown so I focused that it wasn’t like he was going to just randomly walk into the lobby and blow us up.  I didn’t fall asleep but I rested.  I let Sheri sleep a bit longer and I went to take a scalding hot shower and let the water pound my shoulders. 

I felt better, I felt a little more level headed.  We set out to find a restaurant.  I wanted to eat at the one we had eaten at twice in the past; I liked the ambiance and the food.  It was a wine bar with cool hanging glass pendant lighting and high bar tables.  Sheri, however, was not a fan of the restaurant and voted that we were not going to eat there.  She wanted to travel down the road to find something else.  “Sheri,” I said, “You did this last time.  We’ve been down this road.  .  We know there’s nothing down here.”

“You don’t know,” she answered defiantly.  “Maybe something has sprung up in the past six months.”

I just looked at her as she travelled down the road towards Wellesley.  After about three or four miles I glanced around.  The houses were getting smaller and closer together and I knew we were heading closer to the outskirts of Boston.  “Umm, we need to turn around before we end up facing a road block!”

She made the next right into a main street in search for a place to turn around.

 “Ok tur….”  

“That’s a one way”

“How about here….”

“Missed it”

“Oh my God Sheri just turn around!”  I laughed as she kept driving past roads. 

She looked around wildly.  “I have no idea where I am!” 

“Just hang a right here.  We’ll then at least be parallel with the road we were on.”  A little ways down the road “Umm…you should just try to get back to where we were on the main road.”

“Oh for the love of Pete!”  She exclaimed as she turned around in someone’s short driveway. 

We finally made it back to the little down of Dedham and found a hibachi place to eat.  We were seated where our waiter was so kind to keep us abreast of the developing situation.  Every time he came to refill our drinks “There were shots fired!”  “Oh they got the guy!”  “They got him cornered!”  “Yep, he’s dead.”

Only he wasn’t.  He wasn’t even captured at that point.  But I rested back a little knowing that we were out of danger.

We went back to the hotel where we were going to call it an early night.  Sheri got into bed and started reading her book, I was absentmindedly watching TV.  I glanced over to her and was determined to make up for the night before. 

I positioned myself carefully on top of her and gave her little kisses on her cheeks, then the corner of her mouth.  We worked up to deep, passionate kissing.  I put on our toy and eased myself into her, moving slowly at first.  I flexed and rotated my hips while our tongues intertwined.  My hands gripped at her hair and focused on her breathing and matched my movements to her rhythm.  Her hands grabbed a handful of my flesh and she pushed me deeper into her.  I gripped the top of the mattress to give myself leverage as I quickened my pace.  With my legs I beckoned hers to open wider to give me deeper access as she closed her eyes and arched her back.

She flipped me over to climb on top and slowly rocked back and forth.  My nails scratched down her back and my mouth sought the curve where her neck meets her shoulders and I gave her little playful bites.  She breathed into my ear “Spread em” and I opened my legs wider and arched my hips up, giving her more resistance when she slammed down onto me.

I felt her slow down, she was taking deep breaths and making circles with her hips.  I whispered against her skin “you’re such a tease.”

And with that she growled “Arrrggghhhh!  Nooo!  Damnit!!”  Her body shuttered as an orgasm surprised her.  She wasn’t able to get the motion going that she needed to make it as intense as it could be.  “I slowed down so I could readjust!  And then you had to say something!”

She rolled off of me and threw her hands up in the air.  “What a waste!”

I went into the bathroom to clean up and we crawled into bed.  I turned on the fan, put the pillow over my head, and prayed to fall asleep before Sheri started to sound like a buzz saw.  She, of course, was asleep in a matter of seconds.  Her breath started to get heavier and louder and I pulled the pillow down over my head tighter and I tried to focus on the whirring sound of the fan and counted sheep.

By some Grace of God I was able to fall asleep rather quickly.  But it didn’t last.  A little over two hours later I woke up with a start coughing a deep, chest rattling cough.  I had to pee so I stumbled blindly to the bathroom where Sheri’s snores assaulted my ears through the wall.  I tried to keep my eyes closed so I didn’t start to wake up more and felt my way back into bed.  Somehow, those few minutes was enough to wake me up enough that it was near impossible to fall back to sleep.  Sheri sounded like she was being strangled she was snoring so loud and I flopped from position to position extra violently to try and jostle her to shift.

The problem was I was wide awake.  I couldn’t get comfortable, my right arm was still sore, I was either too hot with the covers on or too cold with them off, and let’s not forget I had someone lying next to me that sounded like a piece of gurgling machinery.  After about an hour and a half of struggling to go back to sleep and waking Sheri 3 times to get her to roll onto her side (which made not a lick of difference) I started to go crazy.  I was exhausted and I wasn’t going to fall asleep in this bed.

In a sleepy haze I tore out of bed and threw our suitcases off of the couch.  I knew I shouldn’t because God knows what was on those cushions, but I thought if I could make a bed for myself in the bathroom maybe I’d get some sleep.  I surveyed the floor and there wasn’t a whole lot of room to work with.  I wanted to close the door and the area that gave me the most room would be under the vanity which ran the entire length of the wall.  I put the cushions on the floor and they were a lot smaller than I thought, my entire body would not fit on them but I thought I could curl up small enough to fit.  I eased underneath the vanity and was very careful not to smack my head on the metal toilet paper holder that jutted from the bottom of the sinks.  Knowing that would be a recipe for disaster seeing as once I turned the light out it would be pitch black in there I decided to rethink this plan.  I didn’t want to put my head so close to the toilet but that would have been the best option so I didn’t jolt up and do any damage.  I put the two cushions on the tile floor, surrounded them with pillows, and stood back to admire my handy work.  I thought about taking a picture and posting it to facebook of my makeshift bed with the caption Desperate times calls for desperate measures.  I gingerly laid down and not sooner than 5 seconds later the cushions spread apart from the slippery tile and my hip was on the floor.  I stared into the dark in crazed frustration and shimmied down so one cushion was on the rug of the room and the other cushion was still on the tile floor.  As I tried to adjust I thought of Sheri getting up in the morning and just seeing my legs jutting out into the room and wondering if I fell.

I stood up and turned on the light to survey my other options.  I considered the bathtub but that was out since the faucet was dripping.  And then I considered moving the cushions into the hallway and trying to sleep there.

A desperate growl ripped from my throat as I grabbed the cushions off the floor and threw them back onto the couch.  In the light peeking through the curtains I saw Sheri’s silhouette on the bed.  She was blissfully asleep, on her back, snoring through a quart of wood.  My eyes flashed to the clock that read 4:00 and I shrieked “Sheri!” 

“What??”  She startled awake and looked at me confused.  I was standing over her with crazy eyes and a pillow clenched in my fists.  I considered smothering her with it. 

I thrusted the pillow towards her.  “Put this under your head.  You are snoring so loudly I tried to go to sleep in the bathroom!”

She laughed sleepily and took the second pillow.  “Come here,” she opened her arms to me.  “Come lay by me.” 

Defeated I flopped back into bed and she turned to face me and ran her hand up and down my side.  “Was I snoring that loud?”  In the darkness of the room she saw the look I flashed her and she smiled, pulling me into her.  “I’m surprised you didn’t try to sleep in the hallway.”

“I seriously considered it,” I said dryly.  I snuggled closer to her.

“You need to get some sleep babe,” she said with her eyes closed.  She was already drifting off again.

“I know.”  I shifted, trying to get comfortable.  Her breathing was already heavy, but not snoring, and I thought if she keeps this up maybe I can fall asleep.  It took me a while because I was listening to her, waiting for that sound to be emitted from her side, but it never came.  She just breathed heavily and steady.  I pulled the comforter closer to my chin and somehow fell back to sleep for another few hours.

On Saturday after we saw the other college campuses (And panhandled money from people on the street for parking) we headed back home.  I was so exhausted that night that I didn’t even make it until 9:30 before crawling into my bed who I felt welcomed me with open arms.  She texted me I hate that we sleep like crap together.  I do too.  I still say that with more practice it’ll get better.  More practice, and enough tranquilizer to put down an elephant.

Valentine's Day

Our relationship has always been a see-saw.  We feed off of each other’s energy and more often than not my mood is based on hers when we’re together.  If she’s stressed and quiet I am very on edge and over compensate for the silence which ends up bugging her even more.  If she’s happy and jubilant I am more at ease and relaxed.  When she laughs there is no better sound in the world.

I wanted to see Sheri for Valentine’s Day dinner.  Crazy of me, right?  I didn’t want an expensive dinner, I didn’t want anything lavish or extravagant.  I actually just wanted to sit at the bar of our normal restaurant, have a cocktail or two, and put my feet up on her chair while her fingers make lazy circles on my ankles. 

What did I end up doing?

Playing Sims all night reenacting that scenario. 

The prior Wednesday night was the North Jersey regional choir concert that her oldest daughter was talented enough to be a part of.  We sat on the auditorium as hundreds of the states most talented HS singers joined their voices in harmony.  She sat on my right and cried at a song called “Music in My Mother’s House” because she said Hannah fills my house with music.  On the way home we were laughing so hard we were crying because we passed a sign for Supermarket Bingo and we started calling out Iceberg Lettuce, 23.  Oranges, 69.  Bread, 5.  Each time we called out a food Sheri’s laughter only got harder to the point she couldn’t breathe.  I sat there listening to her laugh and appreciated it the same way as when Hannah was on stage singing.  To me there’s no sound more beautiful.

That feeling went to pot early Valentine’s Day morning when Sheri said to me on my way to work “I REALLY don’t want to go out tonight.  Do you know what the restaurants are going to be like?”

So I said “So come down by me. “

And I got her typical response “No, I have to work early.”

I am so.damned.tired of that response.  If I didn’t hear those 6 words ever again in my life it would be too soon. 

I sat at work all morning glancing over my shoulder for that moment when our girl at the front desk would round the corner with that huge green and brown box from Pro-Flowers.  Every Valentine’s Day Sheri has always sent flowers to my job.  As the hours ticked by it was lunch time and I had a fleeting thought Maybe she’ll surprise me at work with flowers and take me to lunch.  THAT would be romantic.  When she texted me at 12:30 that she was out of her real estate class and having chick-fil-a for lunch I said Well, there goes that idea.  When she asked what idea I told her I thought maybe she’d surprise me for lunch and she said That thought never crossed my mind.

Apparently I responded.

Please stop getting caught up in the meaning of today.  I love you.  I don’t need valentine’s day to say that.  I would rather surprise you with roses when you least expect them.

I’m not hard to please.  Want to know how easy I am?  She emailed me at work later yesterday afternoon.  I was silently fuming when these huge red words popped up on my screen.  All she said was I LOVE YOU.  That’s it.  And that made me ridiculously happy.  An email.  See?  I don’t ask for much.

Driving home that night I wondered if I’d come home to a surprise in my apartment.  I slowly opened my door hoping she’d be sitting on my couch, or that there would be a surprise waiting for me.  Nope.  Nada.  She’s done that in the past.  I’ve come home and there would be flowers sitting on my kitchen table.  Or remember when out of the blue she drove down and put a two-dozen carton of Cadbury Crème eggs in my fridge? 

I called her that night and debated on whether or not to say something.  I ended up saying in a non-confrontational tone “I’m very surprised and a little disappointed I didn’t get anything today.”  I knew that she would have a bouquet of flowers delivered to her work the next day with a thoughtful note that I wrote and I didn’t get anything.  I have been struggling since the death of my father and thought she would take that into account.  Sometimes I feel like she treats me like an obligation rather than a priority.

And to compound on that neglected feeling we both had Tuesday off from work.  I had taken off as we were going to take another trip up to Massachusetts to look at another college but that has been pushed back.  Whenever we have a day off at the same time the wheels start turning in my head of what fun things we can do together.  She completely burst my bubble when she immediately shot down that idea because she had “things she has to do.  She has to do laundry and it’s her only day off and the girls don’t have school…”  I bit my lip in aggravation as I knew fighting with her about it would be pointless.  I responded “You know, this is the same exact situation that we had back in July.”

I went through the next day still wallowing in my hurt when I decided to try and salvage the situation.  I decided that when I saw her Saturday that I would make it a romantic dinner at a private table for two.  I was made even happier when she texted me early Saturday saying that she would come down Tuesday and spend a part of the day with me.  That made me so ridiculously happy.  I got my apartment ready and the wonderful smells filled every corner.  I had the brilliant idea minutes before she showed up to make it a candle light dinner with soft music in the background.  I arranged tea lights in the shape of a heart as the centerpiece.  I knew I was corny but it made me happy.  I heard her walking up the stairs and opened the front door for her and motioned into the apartment “Your table for two is ready.” 

She was standing with a beautiful bouquet of roses and lilies and smirked “You didn’t think I would show up empty handed, did you?”  As I ushered her into the kitchen she saw the heart made of candles and laughed and kissed me and said “You’re so stupid!” 

I took the flowers and put them in a red vase and they were placed in the center of the table.  The music channel broadcasting songs as instrumental variations flowed through the apartment as we sat and our filet mignon and I sipped my red wine.  Dinner, as per usual, was delicious and she went into the bathroom to wash up after a long day of work. 

I took advantage of those few minutes to quickly strip out of my clothes and slip on a red satin negligée that has hearts covered my chest.  I put the candle center piece on my dresser and laid across my bed in a sultry pose waiting for her to get out of the shower.  When she entered my room I kneeled up and gestured towards the candles and said “My heart burns for you baby,” and giggled as I pulled her on top of me.

Her hands slipped over my negligée and made short work of removing my underwear as I positioned myself on top of her.  I sat up as her hands rested on my hips and slowly removed the rest of my outfit and flung it somewhere across the room.  We kissed deeply as my fingers began to explore her as I trailed my tongue down her belly to taste her.  When I came back up I positioned my body over hers as we simultaneously pleasured one another to bring her to her first very loud climax. 

After we caught our breaths she flipped me on to my back and did very quick work with her tongue to make sure that my own orgasm wasn’t far behind hers.  She rested her head on the inside of my thigh and waited for me to regain my composure while her fingers were drawing circles on my belly.  After a while she started up again and made my back arch off my bed, hands clench at my sheets, and toes curl. 

She crawled up my body and I curled up into her nook.  Our legs were tangled together while her hand was tracing up and down my side.  I rubbed my nose into her neck which causes her to pinch up her shoulders and squeal out from getting goosebumps.  After lying like that for a while I started softly kissing her again knowing full well what I was doing.  She protested at first since she is very much like a man, she’s one and done.  Very, very rarely will she achieve more than one orgasm.  I didn’t want her leaving any time soon so I laid on top of her and gave her quick kisses until they started to become more exploring.  She breathed out that it probably wouldn’t happen but her legs opened anyways.  I dipped a finger inside, and then a second.  I moved slowly and deeply until my motions became quicker.  She reached down to touch me and less than a minute later I felt her tense beneath me and release in waves.  I trailed little kisses along her collar bone and smiled against her skin.  “Happy Valentine’s Day to me,” she grinned, eyes still closed and head tilted back.

Yes, Happy Valentine’s Day indeed.