Bent Words

Bent Words

June 06, 2011

K-Dog's cute but... is he cute enough to let live in my home?

I mean, with taking him in comes an awful lot of responsibility.

I have to feed him, do his laundry, include him my random thoughts, make his priorities mine, read less, clean more, beware of all surfaces littered with cat fur. I have to close the bathroom door and make space in my closet. I have to give up a few inches of space in the bathroom drawers and collide with a giant gallon of milk before reaching my water (or beer D Coke or V8).

Despite not having much for proper attire, I have to be somewhat presentable (as opposed to sitting at my counter half naked with a large spoon and even larger giganti-tub of Baller Cheese Balls in my lap without an ounce of shame). I have to shave the legs and the -- well, you know, that long list of girlie crap that girls do which guys think come naturally, as though we were incapable of never smelling sweet with glowing skin and perfectly trimmed beasts...

*** Perhaps we were, come to think of it. But that's beside the point. And you smell what I'm cookin'. Now it's all about upkeep, yo. ***

Not that I didn't do all that stuff before but, when there's a man around, it just seems like a lot of extra work. Like overtime without the pay.

I just don't know if I'm ready to accomodate that kind of animal in this small space.

Sounds rather harsh, perhaps, but that's about as blunt as I can be right now. And I don't have much room left in my life for bush-beating so, there it is.

My indecision, that is.

To be fair in my consideration of this weighty matter, there are a few plusses.

Number one, he's always excited to see me when I get home (actually, when he gets home as I get done with work two hours earlier but it just didn't sound the same the other way).

Number two, sex. I can have it whenver I want it. And I pretty much always want it. Short-lived, fast and furious, slow and low, incomplete or completely amazing -- I want it.

Number three, shared obligations. We make an excellent team. He doesn't shun responsibilities as some do (or have done). He buys food, pays rent without being on the lease, adheres to my ridiculous requests, offers to assist without instigation, carries the heavy shazz (because I'm just a delicate female here, people) and never makes me feel as though I'm not pulling my weight.

*** Not that I ever DON'T pull my weight but, in the past, I've been made to feel as such with my less-than-Julia-Child cooking abilities and disdain for stocking my cupboards ***

Number four, he's kind and considerate. He's funny and good at telling stories. He's imperfect, like me, with the ability to admit it which makes me feel less intimidated. He's good at rubbing my shoulders and kissing until the hours are closer to work than to bedtime. He's not fussy and rarely does he get mad. He listens.

God, does he listen.

And he never lets a moment pass without telling me he loves me.

Kinda makes one wonder who's giving up more in all this -- me or him.

After all, he is the one who gave up his job to work at our shop which is an hour and half of pissed away gas...

Just to collide with me.

Sure, I'm giving up a little bit of freedom, a little bit of closet space (considering the lack thereof in these new digs) and little bit of sanity but I might just be gaining so much more.


I mean, isn't this what people do?

Live together?

Make it work?

Make it happen?

Struggle through the inadequacies of space and time and freedom and pressure and joy and sadness?

Yes. Yes I do believe that this is what people do. They give up a piece of themselves to becomes a greater duo. They compromise when the ends justify the means. They fight and they argue to make themselves heard, to be singular yet joined, to have someone -- in the end -- to miss them when they're gone and cheer for them while they're here.

You have to give up something to unite this way -- to make the pieces fit together -- but what would be lost for standing up alone, not letting the possibility in, the grandeur of something larger than yourself shine.

I have to believe you could lose a lot.

At least, I could.

Perhaps I'll still be a bit indecisive (if not excellently indecisive) but, as it would seem, I've made my decision...

Written at 8:16 p.m.