It's late, we're texting...probably, scratch that, almost definitely shouldn't be. I was caught a little off guard. The texting turns to talking, & the summer night air must have him completely drunk cause he's talking about what a great couple we'd make. I laughed throatily, and it isn't that easy to make me laugh. I would have to learn to submit, he cautions. I love it when guys do this, inform of the hard work & the change necessary to be with them, before I've decided I want to be with them. He reminds me it doesn't involve genuflecting, but I'd have to let him lead.
Truth be told if you find my buttons, I can be quite old skool & truth be told this is nothing new. My girlfriends calling it playing dumb, or letting him be the man, the matchmaker on Oprah, which my grandmother insisted I watch, called it the pickle jar effect. She said that women have been trained to have & get it all, & we must remember, although we can do it ourselves, to ask him to open the pickle jar for us. I call it hair-twirling & gumsmacking, reminiscent of the secretarial pool in the fifties. I say fuck that, you wanna lead, lead no one has to give you permission or make it easy for you to do so, just go, hard. You want to do things for someone you offer, "let me get that for you" I didn't invent the phrase it's commonly used. I'm just not a hair-twirler, perhaps that means I get to sleep in the middle of my bed as often as I like, maybe it means some nights I won't want to, it might keeps some red lines off my future-ex-husband-list,I might continue to have 99 problems but a bitch won't be one, but it definitely won't get me stuck dimming so someone else can shine, & it definitely won't keep me from looking myself in the eye.
