My 29 year old non-boyfriend.

I was thinking of this post tonight.

Mostly because I remember writing it. I remember going to class that day, sitting down in a chair at the back of the room, seeing him for the first time, and thinking to myself that he was old school handsome.

And then, you know, last winter, there was that part where we spent January evenings in my apartment watching late night television and keeping each other warm. And then he didn't totally do everything he should have, but he didn't totally ruin my life, either.

So then there was last September when I ran into him around his birthday and then the day after that when I didn't want to go to a movie by myself because you know what the movies are like on Saturday nights, they just make you feel so alone, so I called him and oh, he was just thinking about me, actually.

...

Fast forward. That boy now lets me lie on his bed reading books while he massages my calves. Which sounds a lot sexier than it really is.

The other day, a friend asked me if I was falling back into that deep hole that is plaid shirts and art deco book ends. I told him I wasn't.

But then, tonight, The Plaid Shirt called me "babe" and it felt a little too normal. I didn't flinch until about thirty seconds after it happened and I was like, oh, yeah... he has never done that before. So, here's my new answer: yes, I might be falling back into the hole that is plaid shirts and art deco book ends, but this time, I'm armed with the cynicism of a girl who has tried it all before, so she's not being bold just yet. And that's anchoring me down. Like a miracle, it is.

He asks me about yoga pants and are they warmer than regular pants and he makes fun of me for wearing slippers outside the house, but he offers can I get you anything? as I defeatedly close my computer and plunge myself, headfirst, into his sheets. He doesn't ask questions, but tells me I'm welcome to stay there for as long as needs be because he's just washed the sheets and I don't really listen to anything past that because all I can think about is how they smell like him; they smell like eucalyptus and mint julep. And the other day, he told me that I was his favorite person in the world, so there's that, too.

And, you know, he just makes life a lot less hard and who am I to pretend like that doesn't mean something to me?





(P.S. headless shots happen because he's always doing something else and duct tape fixes everything.)