15 May, 2004

Minute By Minute

...just can't get enough, I just can't get enough...

He is long and lanky and has that saucy earnestness that is so appealing at any age, and so impossible to keep past thirty. He's not.

"I bet you drive a stickshift."

How could he have knowm that?


He wraps warm arms around me in sleepy greeting, snuggling into my neck.

"You smell good," he says.

My new boyfriend. In two weeks, he will be eight years old.


The server comes with desert.

"I'm the tart," and I raise my hand.

Dead silence.

No answering quips.

Then, nervous titters.


Evidence that I am not at home.


I wave to the garbage man.

"How are you, pretty? Nice walk this morning?"

I smile...oh, wait. He's addressing the dog.

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