Close to You

Today we get say goodbye to another Leap Year and celebrate the fact that I’m not stupid enough to propose to the idiot I live with.

Although I remain unengaged as intended, I did somehow manage to keep the ember of ‘proposal fear’ burning in the Squeeze until after 11pm when I got bored with the whole idea and basically just fell asleep.

It’s not like I threw a cup of petrol on that ember, but I did give it the odd poke and blow a bit of air on it throughout the night.  I made reference to champagne at the movies a few times while we were on the way and to my delight, this bought a resurgence of R.E.S (rat eye syndrome – eyes sliding from side to side and I can almost hear the voice in his head chanting “let me out let me out let me out.”)

I also came in the door from work singing “Close to You”.  Granted; this may have had more effect if I’d had a Rick Moranis moment (from Parenthood) and entered the room on my knees singing the old Carpenters hit...  Maybe a wilted little bunch of wild flowers in my hand... But frankly, I don’t think my knees would have been up to the job and it’s hard to look sophisticated while groping for something to heave yourself off the floor with...  No glamour in that!

I’d already had to say on the drive to the movies “that’s it.  I’m not proposing to you anymore!  You’re too damned annoying!” after a banking mishap.  This saw a glimmer of relief cross his face prior to him shutting it down and hoping I hadn’t seen it...  At one point during the movie, I poked around in my bag and pulled out a piece of paper before tapping his hand and saying “are you ready... for the ring...?”  His laughter upon discovery that it was merely a piece of paper was a little hysterical and I’m sure he actually mopped at his brow after.

Still; he made it through.  Unscathed.  Unengaged.  And even more strangely, un-dumped.

And this morning I paused for at least one tenth of a second to wonder why I hadn’t proposed.  I was getting ready for work; putting makeup on in the bathroom mirror.  He wrapped his arms around me from behind and mentioned that boxing was really paying off as he could feel that I’d lost weight and it was actually visible. 

Then he ruined the whole damned thing by saying “at least front on” and then moved into the danger zone by doing this insulting hand shaping thing to show me that I was obviously looking like a pregnant rhino from the side view; just in case I had misunderstood his words.

No wonder I’m not ever proposing to the fool!