In the past history of this blog, there have been many confused and irrational ramblings by some girl closely resembling me. If you recall, she wanted her Rockstar to propose; but wait! She wanted to have babies and was quite certain she was willing to give up her Rockstar if he didn’t give up his sperm. For the record, you are now entering the life of a Libra. Please keep your hands inside the cart for the duration of the ride, and hang on for dear life.
It’s funny to think how different things were even a year ago. I was happily employed at a bookstore where every day was like Christmas, and would nightly go home to my Rockstar who would or would not greet me with a bear hug and a boner, depending on his mood. I spent a good deal of time waiting for him to say those three little words (I love you), or even four little words (Will you marry me?), growing increasingly preturbed by his refusal to verbally commit to me. After this weekend, I realized that all that time, I should have been dreaming bigger, and expecting even MORE words. Maybe even six whole ones. I didn’t even know I wanted to hear them until after they were said:
“Look what I bought for us.”
For those who may not have known, (or may have forgotten), it was my birthday last Friday. I cannot say I celebrated it, as I spent the entire day in a hellacious prison acting as a Pizza Slut. Luckily, my Rockstar missed me enough this week that he brought me to work at 9 AM, and came back to pick me up at 1:30 AM just so he could see me for a few extra minutes.
While I have never expected birthday presents from the man I’m in a relationship with (other than birthday sex), I cannot say that I would refuse or deny any gifts that were purchased with my day of birth in mind. My Rockstar in the last weeks purchased yellow shocks to replace the ones in my very yellow truck, and while not necessarily meant as a birthday gift, I appreciate the gesture greatly. That being said, the fact that my Rockstar took me out for breakfast at Perkins on Saturday so I could eat lunch food was more than enough of a birthday present.
When I arrived home Saturday night, my Rockstar’s Daughter wished to show me the new fuzzy blanky her daddy had bought her. After tucking her in and raining kisses upon her, I went into my own bedroom intent on plastering myself to my mattress for the next 5-7 hours. My Rockstar rudely (or so I thought at first) turned the bedroom light on and said those few words I’ve waited to hear all my life.
“Look what I bought for us.”
Without knowing my Rockstar, it may be hard for you to understand the great depth of his meaning in these words. He is forever talking about going to this race, or taking this weekend to go dirt-biking, or looking online to purchase guitar gear instead of a house. While it is unspoken yet known that I am invited to participate in these activities, there has been few or no times when he has referred in conversations (at least with me) to he and I as “us”. Him being a man of few words, (unless it has to do with Mitt Romney) I could not have been more shocked or delighted if he had said, “Here’s a castle for you and a pair of swarovski-encrusted stillettos for you to marry me in.”
If he would have put a pile of cow shit on the floor and said, “Look what I bought for us”, I would have thrown my arms around him and covered him in kisses for saying it in such a way, nevermind the dung. Luckily, he bought for us sheets, which perhaps seems quite insignificant to an outsider, except for one little detail- they were purple. Which means he bought them specifically with me in mind. Who needs a ring and a proposal when there are purple sheets to dirty? 😉