It's almost 3 AM. I just got home.
I love writing now, with all the lights off and the whir of the fridge humming away the evils of going to bed alone. That sounds pathetic. It's not meant to be, I'm just fine. In fact, tonight I consciously chose to sleep alone, for no other reason than I'm tired. But not too tired to write to you, dearest blogettes.
I've gone out a few times with a certain gentleman.
Very mega super good-looking, funny, smart. A little older than me, just right. When we're out doing the things we do, he converses with me, doesn't just talk at me as most men communicate.
Sounds great, right?
I have come to the opinion that he has a wife.
As in, not a gay lover he jokingly refers to by a female-spousal label. As in, a real wife.
Why do I think this? I have my reasons. I'll get into it later.
But how unfortunate if this is, in fact, not true, yet I go on thinking it anyway. It will bring a rapid end to our (as of yet barely-existent, but definitely potential-filled) relationship situation--mainly because I would apply accelerated force to his testicles and remove them from his body, before sending him home to explain to his wife where his balls went.
World AIDS Day was yesterday. Have we learned nothing? There will be no sexing around with people before going home to your wife, please. How gauche.
I am going to ask him the next time I see him.
I'm sure he'll say no.
But the Cancerians...we are a perceptive bunch. I see you. Will the denial be the truth, or a lie?