So there is a book you may have heard of entitled The Five Love Languages. Working in a bookstore, I have come across this book from time to time and scanned through it. (As actually reading it would take more time than I am prepared to commit to.) In moseying through this book, I have come to figure out that my Love Language is Touch. Of course, I probably could have told you that WITHOUT reading the book. So now begins my story.
My family is excessively huggy; meaning if I bring you to a family gathering, you will probably receive a hug when you leave, and if I were to bring you back again, you would receive yet another hug upon arrival. I had never really thought of this much growing up, since it was just the way of it.
When I began dating my ex at 18, I quickly found out that his family was NOT this way. I believe part of it was due to the fact that they all worked together in the family restaurant, so they saw each other every day, but I also believe they all had an underlying weird semi-dislike for each other. Anyhoo, I found out I got the affectionate one of the bunch. Though he was not blatantly throwing himself at people for hugs like I do, my ex (we will call him J) would surreptitiously slip his hand around mine while we were watching a movie, or slide me by my belt loops over to him in the bench seat of his truck. After 12 years together, he was accustomed to giving goodbye hugs and kisses, hello hugs and kisses, goodnite kisses, and nighttime holdings. I didn’t realize having a person hold me at night was a big deal until after I left.
(To interrupt my story for a moment, I just the gate to my store and a man walked by, rubber- necking. He came back in a few minutes. This was our conversation.
Him: Hey, what are you hiring for? (We have a help wanted sign up)
Me: Just to run the store, process book buys, you know. You want a job? (Yes, I realize I set myself up for that one.)
Him: (raising an eyebrow and grinning) Why? Are you offering?
Me: (Flashing a flirty smile) I’m not the boss. I don’t hire people.
Him: Well, if I got hired, I would spend all my time lookin’ at you. (Gag me)
Me: Yes, well most people do.
Him: What are you doing tonite?
Me: Going home after work.
Him: Well, that’s a really nice outfit, I’ll be keeping my eye on you. (Like that’s not creepy.)
The End. I wonder if it was actually my outfit or because I dyed my hair Jessica Rabbit Red that he stopped.)
OK. So back to my story. When I left my hubby and got a lonely lonely apartment, I was not yet officially dating my Rockstar, (he was still just my Fuck Buddy) and I was actually toying with the idea of dating his co-worker Kieth, who he had introduced me too. Kieth was all about hugs and touching and saying what you feel, which appealed to me greatly, but it bordered on the edge of obnoxious. So I had a conversation with my Rockstar about it and he told me, “If you expect me to be all huggy and affectionate like Kieth, I have to tell you that I’m not like that.” Aside from that fact, I really did want my Rockstar to be my boyfriend, because we have an awesome time together. And up to that point he had been sufficiently affectionate with me.
In the next few months, I went through a tough time, realizing that I didn’t have my hubby anymore to hold me at night, and realizing that my Rockstar had slept in his bed alone for the last 8 years, so he was not yet prepared to have someone invade his side of the bed. There were many nights I stayed at his house which ended with his sleeping on the couch because I resembled a victim of the Titanic using him as my life-jacket in bed. On the nights I stayed at my place alone, I would stay up all night texting anyone who would respond, as the lack of a warm body next to me prevented me from sleeping.
About a year ago, I moved in with my Rockstar, which I believe at times he has regretted solely for the reason that I hold him at night and take up his side of the bed. In the past few summer months, that has discontinued because of the heat. I have finally grown accustomed to staying on my own side of the bed.
So in the past week or so, I noticed something ironic. My Rockstar is now the one scootching up next to me at night. In fact, last night we fell asleep in a tangle of appendages because he was trying to be next to me. Perhaps we have been together long enough now that he is willing to let his own neediness show, or maybe he is finally learning to speak my Love Language. I thought it was sweet when he would grab my hand and hold it as I was drifting away in sleepy bliss, but when I woke up last night with his arms latched onto me, I thought to myself, “Get on your own damn side of the bed!”
FYI, I still prefer being latched onto while sleeping to lying in bed alone.
P.S. So the remember the bitchy woman who I mentioned brought books in yesterday? She came back to sell the same books today that she wouldn’t sell to me yesterday. WTF?!