Drifting thoughts of a snowflake

Monday, February 23, 2004

Going, going, gone

I started out the weekend strong. Dinner with hubby was fun. After a couple of glasses of wine, admiring the beautiful belly dancer, and delicious understated food we headed off to a upscale hotel bar for after dinner drinks.

I guess I have two comments so far. If you have ever felt chubby, slightly overweight, or even fat; go see a professional belly dancer. You will learn that beauty does not come in one size and shape, made for all, designed by men, and perpetuated by women. These women are gorgeous, despite pot bellies and heavy thighs. In fact, those might be the human qualities that make them so intriguing.

Comment number two revolves around hotel bars. Why are hotel bars so fun? Is it because with any luck you will never run in to any of the people there again? Is it where the seedy people go? Is it due to the temporary feel that everything has. This chair? Yes, it is beautiful. Plush leather, beautiful craftmanship. Next week it's the dumpster for that guy, as a hotel guest on a drunken rampage ruins it with his spurs. (Yes I live Texas and no - I have never seen anyone wear spurs,but it wouldn't surprise me).

It appears the Amaretto got to my head, and I'm sure the wine didn't help. In a rather exhausted way I asked to go home. My husband, always the gentleman agreed without hesitation.

Now I was nervous. I had to do it. I had to kiss him. Ahhhh, the stress. I know it seems weird, and I don't have a problem kissing men at all. Just him.

So I quietly got out of the car as we pulled up to my apartment. Looking down the whole time. My mind racing in circles.

And then I did it. I made a teenager look good. It was horrible, strange, and pathetic. I am one of the most sexual people I know, and yet when I am with him I turn into the snowqueen. I forgotten how he kissed. How weird is that? This is my husband, and I forgot how he kissed.

It's times like this I look at my life and wonder what movie I am watching. Who is this person? And then the worst thing I could do, I did. Immediately following the kiss I nervously blurt out, "Suzanna made me do it!". Am I five? What the hell was that? Perhaps I could have followed it with, "I wrote you this note, please check the box that indicates how you feel about me". Ridiculous.

I apologized, relayed to him that Suzanna had really just pointed out that I need to take more risks in our relationship. That I was following her advice, and it is what I wanted to do. He understood, I think.

In the end, I am still baffled. How could it be that at one point in our relationship, my clothing caught fire while we were in the midst of sex and we didn't realize it until the fire alarm went off (I was fine, thank you); and now I can't even imagine wanting to see this man in my bed. I think I may be way to gone to pull this back together.

Free Counter