Thursday, February 20, 2003.
I ran
into my cousin Kevin
on Saturday
AND Sunday (but
not at the 'tittie bar' or anything).
BELATED VALENTINE'S ENTRY
February 13 … This is me trying to buy Amy a surprise Valentine's Day spa gift certificate … on the sly.
At work.
*ring*
AMY: "Cancer Clinical Trials, this is Amy -"
ME: "Hey, it's me. Is that massage spa at the Fancypants Mall any good?"
AMY: "The Greenhouse Spa? Yeah, it's nationally known in my magazine. Why?"
ME (thinking fast on my feet): "… eh, someone asked me about it?"
AMY: "WHO asked you about it?!"
ME: "… Uh, no one. Bye."
A few hours later on the way home from work, calling Amy from my cellphone.ME: "Hey, it's me. Want to meet me at the Fancypants Mall for dinner? Mom can watch the baby another hour."
AMY: "Okay. Why do you want to go to the mall?"
ME (thinking fast on my feet): " … eh, I'm looking for a game."
That one was believable.
After dinner in the mall.
ME: "I'll meet you at home in a bit. I'm going to look at the games."
To my surprise, they had Unreal II, so I bought it. Then I went looking for this spa. I passed by Victoria's Secret and was glad that I had this great spa idea, so I wouldn't have to brave the lingerie store.
Sign on wall where Greenhouse Spa used to be:
"Sorry. We've Moved!"
Gulp. Goodbye comfort zone. Hello panty raider.
In an effort to put off the fateful Victoria's Secret stop, I brainstormed another gift idea. Calyx Prescriptives, the scent she wore when I fell in love with her. (That sounds like a good line for a commercial, doesn't it?)
After I got that at Nordstrom's, I headed to Victoria's Hot Little Satiny Box.
What is it about these lingerie stores that make most guys suddenly feel like a tranquilized herd animal upon entering? You can see it in the eyes of every male who gets dragged into the store. Part of him wants to be there. But the reality of it is that it's just too embarrassing, too dangerous in fact.
I mean we want to look, to stare, at the overtly sexual merchandise. The fishnet stockings. The skimpy panties. The nearly see-through body suits that you used to dream about on your favorite comic book superheroines. Not to mention the huge posters of unreal models pouring out their cleavage and opening their Pandora's hot boxes for you, a gawking moldable piece of man-flesh.
Maybe it's the fact that we men are clearly outnumbered by the sheer estrogen-to-testosterone ratio alone there. Or the fact that it's sometimes difficult to not imagine what the hot woman fingering that cherry red thong would look like wearing that with someone doing the same to her.
It's as if looking a fraction of a second too long at any undergarment will get you branded as a pervert faster than Michael Jackson at a boy scout sleepover. As if they can all read your mind … and we should be ashamed of ourselves.
So the reason it's painful is that we want to look but we can't. Every male instinct in our brains is screaming from neuron to axon, "It's a trap!" It's like waking up onstage at a packed Oprah show wearing nothing but a T-shirt with the words, "NO FAT CHICKS" on it. And that kiss-ass Dr. Phil is there too.
Hence the tranquilized and castrated deer-in-the-headlights poker face every guy involuntarily puts on as he tries to feign disinterest in those pink lacy babydolls.
Anyways, you get the idea. It's probably the equivalent of how women who are new to the gym think that the men are all thinking how weak they are, when they're really just waiting for you to lay down/bend over/do the splits so they can see what they're trying to get buffed for in the first place. Okay, maybe it's nothing like that.
I ended up choosing the obvious ensemble near the front door. A red satiny overshirt with white lacy sleeves to wear over a red one-piece bodysuit with mesh on the sides. Of course, even this simple and coarse description was too complicated when I went to the cashier's desk.
"May I help you?"
"Yeah, I … uh … that one, over there … the uh … red … thing … um, in front …you know … red …," I grunted in troglodyte diction. I'm not even exaggerating. It was as if so much of my brain power was being used to avoid any action/glance that might be perceived as pervert-guy behavior that the remaining language faculties just weren't gettin' enough powah, Capt'n!
"Go ahead," the other cashier told the one I was grunting at, "I'll watch the counter."
So I led her to the one I wanted.
And I just gave them whatever card they wanted and kept saying "okay" until I was able to leave with my Valentine's package.
Along with a year membership to the Victoria's Secret Shopping Club.
I was right. It was a trap.
Not only did I get home extra late, but Amy was sitting at my desk as I walked in the front door, giving her a clear view of me and my shopping bags. She didn't say anything so I figured she was continuing to pretend she didn't know about my surprise just to humor me.
But as I found out on Valentine's Day, both of us were surprised.
Amy not only liked the gifts, she LOVED them. Amazingly, she had no idea I was going to buy anything. Even when I walked in the front door, the desk printer hid the packages I was carrying from her view."It's really nice … you did a good job picking it out. It's not tacky or anything (like she would have expected from me, she meant). I really like it," she beamed with an affection I hadn't seen nor expected in a long time.
I've been joking about this since Amy first got pregnant, with the crude humor, the desperation jokes, the pr0n jockeying. But in reality, a lot of my sexual frustrations have been replaced by the sheer joy and awe of seeing Amy with Sun Su. I've quietly accepted the changing nature of our love, something more settled and deeper but also something in need of nurturing. And patience. You gain more appreciation for just snuggling in bed with your honey, even if the last time you remember having sex sometimes feels like the last time you'll be having sex. When I first met Amy, I'm not sure I would have said she was my soul mate. We have very different souls, which is why I fell in love with her and knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life discovering her. As long as the love is there, your souls entwine evermore, like two trees growing to become one, until you eventually share the very sunlight and water from the earth, strengthening each other and relying on each other to go on.
And by occasionally reminding each other that we are lovers, and not just parents.
Amy put the lingerie and spray on immediately. Once I realized that she was actually starting to get in The Mood, I ducked into the bathroom to scrub all of my more odiferous regions, along with some quality brushing and flossing.
We snuggled and cuddled and did what lovers do.
It was the best Valentine's Day ever, and the night was well spent. As were we.
Sun Su only woke up once. It wasn't anything I said.
______________________________
PATIENT OF THE DAYI opened my patient's chart this morning to read the following:
2:23 a.m. (Nurse's note) "Patient called nurse. Coughing/retching. Holding up 4 inches of a wristwatch band in his hand. Pointed to his throat and said he swallowed his watch."
Various X-rays and one emergent laryngoscopic procedure later, the patient was fine and the watch was recovered. It was in his esophagus at about the level of his clavicles.
This morning when I walked into his room, I just couldn't resist and actually asked him,
"So, did you have a good time last night?"
Demento The Watch Swallower (the patient) didn't find that very amusing.
There's a bed on the psych floor with his name on it tomorrow.
Bastard should've laughed.
______________________________
MEDEA SIN HOT MODEL
Today's Hot Model is my own Amy of course. I couldn't get her to dress up in a T-shirt though. She's tired.
(Click on the red to find out how your fine self can be a MEDEA SIN HOT MODEL.)
