Pampers and Thongs

“I’m gonna go do my nails. You gonna be alright?” The Pirate Queen bounces out the door, purse in hand, thongs on feet. This is one last check-in, before she goes and pampers herself. Yes, thongs and pampers, quite the sexy image. We like to spice things up.

“I’m good, thanks for asking though. Enjoy.” Yeah, I know, it’s not the most romantic thing I could have said. Romance is like wine, and I still haven’t worked out what goes well with thongs and pampers. Rushing to the door, grabbing her in my arms and taking her in the doorway might be a little much. Besides, she gets complaints from her neighbors after I leave.

Knock-Knock!

“Yes?”

“Hi, it’s me again. From across the hall? Could you tell your boyfriend to leave his clothes on? The white light reflecting from the hall light, off his body actually turns the peephole into a laser. This is the second bird we’ve replaced this month. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes of course.”

“Good, now where can I get me a nice thong-pamper ensemble like that?

So, I decide to lay low. I recline in the couch and wave as she goes. She’ll be gone for a bit. It gives me a chance to relax and reflect.

We’ve been “together” since earlier this year, and she’s been in California for a month. It’s a good time for a reflection. It’s time to take a look at where we stand.

It’s funny, we’ll call each other all the special names, and yeah, we’ve even admitted to loving each other, but neither of us seem to be able to say the words “boyfriend” or “girlfriend.” I can only speak for myself, but I will say that it has nothing to do with the level of affection. I really do love this woman.

On the other hand, to identify what woman with trite terms I identified the schoolgirl ingénues of my life seems like an insult. The Pirate Queen isn’t a girlfriend. She’s a woman, who is very dear to me. Sure, I still carry her books, and play with her Barbies, but it’s different now. I stand in a place of reverence. I respect her.

Today in the car, she pointed out the window, “Look! Those are pretty dresses. Oh, wait! They’re wedding dresses. I’m sorry.”

Nope. We don’t stand there either.

We are in a place where we enjoy each other’s company. Last night we went to the observatory. It’s in the same park as the Greek Theater. The theater was running a weekend long Prog-rockers extravaganza. Prog rockers are creature that I had thought was all but extinct. They’re not. They’re like ants. They hide underground with their Rush and Genesis CDs until there’s a musical event, and then they all scurry out from the walls. I felt insulted because I wasn’t invited to this one. I had left my Rush CDs at home.

The park was full. Between the Prog-ants and people looking for the local fires, the rangers had closed off several roads. In fact, there was only one road to the observatory. Trust me, we tried several other roads to get there.

“This one dead ends.”
“I see that.”

“What does the map say?”

“It says that it doesn’t know where we are. Neither do I.”

“But you’re a local!”

“Only by proximity. The last time I was here almost 15 years ago.”

“Fine! I’m going back.”

“Uhm according to the guy with the gun and the Sheriff uniform that’s all you can do.”

I tried using the maps on my cell phone, but it’s amazing how close you can be to Los Angeles and still lose cell service. It’s one of those moments that define a relationship.

Define ours as flexible. We did well through the twisting roads of our afternoon, and although we arrived at the observatory in late evening, we also arrived in good spirits, and most importantly, we arrived together.

We had a good time looking at the stars, and the burning hillside. It was nice to share these experiences with someone. After going through a divorce, I wasn’t sure if I’d do that again. I’m old and ornery. That’s not something many people are looking for.

The Pirate Queen is a list-a-holic. She says it gets her kicked out of parties.

“Yes, three! Three wonderful bottles of Tequila!”

We both have our plusses and our minuses. The best thing so far, has been that we’re both comfortable enough with ourselves. I love that about her. I love that I can disagree, and she’s ok. She may not change her mind, but she’s happy with who I am too.

It’s why I’m sitting on her couch typing as she get her nails done. It’s two adults feeling comfortable enough to spend time together or away from each other. Whether it’s on a couch in shorts and a T, or if it’s in the doorway with pampers and thongs, we’re happy around each other. That’s the best reflection of them all.

I’d tell you more, but she’s home. Call me silly, but I’d rather spend time with her. She’s pampered up and ready to go.