I forgot the rule about clothes again. I can’t explain it, really. I know Freud says that there are no accidents, but, it’s just…wearing clothes is just default human behavior. I never SLEEP in clothes, unless I’m menstruating or sharing a house with others (roommates or guests), but, usually, even if I’m being a total slob eating frozen yogurt out of the carton with Abe on my shoulder and reading the paper, I’m wearing a pair of underpants.
Last time, after the nightly sexual experience, he said: “I hate to deprive myself of your warmth and comfort, but if I didn’t enforce the rules, you wouldn’t respect me in the morning.”
Then he took out a rubber yoga mat and laid it by the bed. He gave me a pillow and a blanket. That’s where I slept.
He said, “Next time, you’ll sleep in the kitchen like Oliver Twist. Do you want to be mine, or a wretched foundling like him?”
I forgot, again, and so I slept–or tried to sleep–in the kitchen, by the table.
When the sun started to come up, the rosy-fingered dawn, I got up. I got up before my bird, and Abe’s an early riser (an early bird! Ha! Ha! lame joke). I was going to feed him, but I left him alone to rest. The travel is stressful to him.
(As an aside…I love Abe SO MUCH that I feel guilty about it. This little bird is such an innocent and joyful creature. I know I sound like a crazy parrot lady…but every day, he gives me love. If I don’t double-lock his cage, he opens it, walks to me at night, and wakes me up grooming my hair and staring at me.)
I rinsed off in the shower and shaved my legs and armpits and slathered on the lotion. Time to go back to entertaining.
He was up already, as usual. Probably since 4:30 AM. Lifting weights in the gym. Almost all of the men I attract do this. Superficially, they seem different…but they’re still the same, just reiterations.
Meet the New Wolf. He’s like the last one.
Only more deadly.