Resolving to email her, it’s my turn. Firing up the secret email address, oh look, she’s broken the taking of turns, she’s emailed me, what a pleasant start to the day.
Hi R, here i am in a cold australian winter sipping whiskey, reading a magazine, came across an idea, thought i’d share it with you. fate, date, mate, sate, grate. never before such truth spoken about relationships, five simple rhyming words, they pin me, R, like arrows.
Then from there, our first date. to the movies, in the queue for tickets he held my hand, it was so exciting. sitting in the back row, a big carton of popcorn between us, playing games with our elbows on the armrest, pushing each other’s off. sliding down the seats, kissing, his breath smelling of a shot of vodka, spearmint gum to hide it, the popcorn, and his aftershave, all intoxicating to me.
Next, we mate. a party together, drinking too much, finding a spare room, doing it. can’t remember anything about it, too much to drink, now i know him i can’t believe it was anything special, still, it was enough to get me in a groove, one my life has never got out of.
Quickly sated. strange how it works, you have such need, you find someone, the need subsides, the someone doesn’t. life’s mean trick. now you’re stuck with him. it’s so difficult to pull away, say no, at any given moment there’s always a reason not to leave, only trouble is, it’s not what you really want.
Then, children. now you are welded together. and it grates. now a movie date or sneaking away from a party to a spare bedroom for a quick screw, the thought of it shreds me, i’d rather he did it with someone else, he probably does. i expect he feels the same way.
So there we have it R, a whiskey-laden thought. fate, date, mate, sate, grate, story of a marriage. email soon R, give me something less bitter to have fantasies about. Jxxx.
