Of Asses and Oxygen

Thank you kindly, New Age Bitch and elves (call me!).

Today’s post is brought to us by the lovely Flutter who is the only blogger I know that lives someplace hotter than I do. She also had the coolest job ever, but I’m not sure if I’m allowed to talk about it. Imagine what you will.

Allow me to present Flutter!

My fiance and I met on a very warm day in July, 8 years ago. I broke my cardinal rule of celibacy and slept with him on the first date. OK FINE. I am a hussy. But I figured, hell why not? I mean he DID buy me dinner, isn’t that the international contract for sex?

You buy me food, I give you a little sumpin sumpin? Shut up.

After the throes of bow chika bow wow, he gave me a gift. I know what you’re thinking. It was right then that I was presented with a ring, a symbol of his undying love. A ring that he purchased when he was 5 years old, from a gumball machine. One that made several moves with him, accompanied him to his college classes all in the hopes that he would have it at the ready when he met the ONE. Right? Or perhaps I was given a sports car for my mattress mambo prowess. A nice, sleek Lambo with yellow paint and black leather interior? Or maybe, he called for room service to bring us champagne and strawberries, to toast and celebrate our love, newly formed on the well loved sheets of a nice hotel?

Yeah, no.

I was rewarded for my kindness with a dutch oven.

No no, my pretties. Not a Le Creuset. Not something that you can put a roast in overnight and have a lovely meal. Oh, no. He farted, pulled the covers up over our heads and would not let me escape. I coughed and much to his surprise, began to laugh. But, since all of the oxygen had been sucked out of my immediate breathing supply, my laugh was high pitched and munchkinesque. As if I had been sucking on helium.

In one weekend I went from single, to attached and left with some lovely parting gifts. A bruise on my ass, a dutch oven, a steak dinner and the love of my life. Pretty sure I came out ahead.

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

-Anais Nin

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