Velvet Verbosity

1. Forget to pay the utility bill and then act surprised when the computer won’t turn on in the morning. (For a double flunk, find a way to blame it on the children!)

2. Sleep through your alarm and get to work an hour and a half late. (For a double flunk, show up with Dunkin Donut crumbs on your chin and sleepy seeds still in the corners of your eyes.)

3. Check your myspace. (Double F points for doing this while eating a banana freeze-pop and neglecting dishes in the sink.)

4. Think mean things about the other moms at your daughter’s lacrosse practice. (Double flunk by actually telling Mrs. “I’m so upper-middle class and proud of it” that you like her shirt and that your mother has one just like it that you bought her for Christmas.)

5. When your teenager bites your head off because she’s “hot and grumpy” and then stomps off to her room, make a face at her retreating back. (Oh, the possibilities for double-flunking this one are endless!)

6. Chew Juicy Fruit with your juicy boyfriend at the office. (Double F for chewing two or more pieces at a time. Loudly.)

To answer the question, “How can you double flunk anything?”, this is my blog and I make the rules ’round here (as well as the lies). Understood?

“What are you thinking about?”

I smile at being caught, and at the feeling of sheepishness that precedes what I will say.

“I’m thinking about how much I adore you.”

“Yeah? In what way?” Your eyes smile delightedly.

“The perfect blending of your fragile bone structure”, I press the tips of my fingers to the softly sharpened rise of your cheekbone, “like here…with the raw strength of your body. The details of your imperfections…your slight overbite, your imperfectly perfect mouth, the laugh lines around your eyes, your beautiful hands. I love to watch you write, to see the arch of your fingers, the way you gracefully, forcefully hold the paper down on the desk, the same way you touch me.”

I kiss your palm and the tips of your slender fingers. They are warm and soft from the firelight and the sleep that has crept into them.

“The way you think out loud. The pitch and resonance of your voice and all of its variance. How you answer a difficult question with such lucid clarity and honesty. The way I can find the cracks in your confidence and how you still manage to land on your feet, constantly facing and mastering your own fragility.

Your adept, sharp wit and insight. The almost absolute mastery of language you possess and share freely. How I ache when someone speaks eloquently, the way you so often do.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know the secret source of your sorrow.”

He says it plainly enough, but I feel my tongue clamp to the roof of my mouth. I smile, look away, pretend to be thinking.

He gently takes me off the hook with a light response, “Of course, we all have sorrow, stemming supposedly from our separation from the Divine.”

We laugh at this and I rest my head on his chest. At least for tonight I won’t have to risk anything.