Tuesday, July 15, 2008

cinco de mayo, part 3

To catch up on the back story, read this, and then this.

There we were, outside of the pub, on Cinco de Mayo, manymany years ago. I was completely sober, because somebody had to be, and The Mister was CLEARLY not that somebody. He was plastered, on purpose, so that he could tolerate the clipping he was about to receive.

Now really, if I were in his shoes, not that they'd fit or anything, I would not choose alcohol and a set of clippers. The buzzing and the buzz and the buzzing and the buzz...I'd have barfed, that's all I'm saying. But it's all hair on the floor now...

I drove his sloppy self back to his parents' house, where he stumbled out of the car, clomped up the stairs to the front door, and made his not-quiet way through the house to where the clippers were stored. Then he made his equally not-quiet way back to the kitchen.

My in-laws must sleep like the dead. I say this with the greatest awe and respect, because a) I respect them deeply, and b) I aspire to sleep like that when I'm all grown-up.

He plugged the darn thing into the wall, and handed me the tool to bring about the demise of his Beloved Facial Hair.

I said to me, Oh shit. He's really serious. I am totally going to have to put his mouth where my mouth is. Why didn't he chicken out? Jerk. I don't even know how to use these things. What happens if I cut his lip off? That will totally suck, and I am not kissing any bloody mouth stump!

I said to him, I bet you scare your mother in the morning.

Not the cleverest things come out of my mouth at 1 a.m., but I'm okay with that. And besides, it didn't much matter, because OBVIOUSLY this boy was playing hardball, and didn't much care what I had to say at that point, because he was plowed, and he just wanted to be kissing on me.

And he wanted to cry. The single tear of mourning shed for his soon-to-depart natty mess gave it away. I am so kidding about that. The Mister didn't actually cry. But he thought about it.

So I buzzered off his beard. And Lip Covering. And let me tell you, people, I am not very good with the clippers. And he wasn't sitting very still. And I was nervous. And not good with the clippers...

But it all turned out alright in the end, you see.

I honestly do not remember what he said after I turned off the clippers. I just remember the kiss. It was a lovely event. I'm not going to say much else, as I'm fairly confident Uncle Benna just plain can't handle it.

If you haven't been kissed in such a way that makes the rest of your life melt into nothing, and that makes you melt into a puddle of goo, and causes fireworks, the bigbigbig ones, to erupt around you, and makes your heart stop beating long enough to shut your brain off... If you haven't been kissed like that then you are kissing the wrong people.

I can say that, because I kissed plenty of the wrong kind of person. And let me tell you, I was not looking back.

I will also tell you that me not looking back was a good thing, because unbeknownst to me, The Mister had taken my left-hand ring finger measurement that evening whilst I visited the loo.


  1. So plowed in fact that I didn't even remember that we kissed right there in the kitchen. I remember all the other stuff, but the fireworks got right past me. Ah well, at least there's a good account of it now, preserved for the ages.


talk to me, people. because you know i get all giddy when you do.