It really does look like a precious stone bauble that might adorn the hand of an aging wealthy socialite. The only time I've ever uttered the phrase with the straight-forward sincerity the sign conveys is when offering a thank you to the universe at-large after a negative pregnancy test in my teens or a narrowly avoided car accident, but never from a place of genuine gratitude to the lord and savior of scriptural times. This guy I've been clocking some time with was also enjoying our backyard fire pit with his boy, who shares a daycare class with my Charlie, so the seven of us - three adults (allegedly), and four kids - made for an interesting get-together. I'm an oldish broad with three kids and various and sundry life baggage-ness.
Strawberries hog the berry spotlight most of the time, but raspberries have always been my favorite. Is boyfriend really the right term for this kind of post-divorce, solo-mom-of-three-sometimes-meets-up-with-solo-dad-of-one liaison? I'd feel squiggly calling him my boyfriend even if it was a word I felt completely comfortable flourishing like a gift bottle of wine during those social instances when an introduction requires the relationship elaboration.
All boyfriend usage rights have long since expired for yours truly, probably around the time I pushed my third child into a snowy world in a 100-year-old farmhouse one cold March morning. It's best to let people wonder who this man is in relation to my life, especially since I spend most of my time pondering the same damn thing. He don't care what I call him, just so long as I call him. God knows why, I mean, But, God bless his rangy ass, he digs me.
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I believe Cory hoofed it down the street to our local distillery no less than two times for emergency beer supplies and I think we all know that the amount of beer consumed directly correlates to how good a time was had... Life is weird and sad and bad and magical and heartwrenching and unbelievably fuckin' beautiful. The number of times you check your phone and how many hours of your day you spend staring at that little screen will alarm you. Hearts and thumbs ups and Facebook debates with strangers, opinion articles passed off as news or fact that say nothing and mean even less, endless memes and photos of other people allegedly living amazing lives but who are just the same smartphone addicted junkie as the rest of us.
I am no longer on social media and the difference it has made in my life is nothing short of astounding. I have what I refer to as a 'shell' Facebook account under a different name I use for work purposes. Put down your phone and it all ghosts away, like that satisfactory snapping off of an old school TV where the image shrinks to a white dot that eventually disappears. I used to spend hours of time scrolling social media feeds and reading news articles, justification acrobatics Cirque du Soleiling around my brain: And it's true, I do need to be aware of certain goings on in the universe as part of my job but that kind of thing can be accomplished in minutes, once a day.
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Wordless and shirtless, he hops out and begins picking black-eyed Susans he will present to me with a shy grin so I can fill the giant mason jar sitting atop the kitchen table he built me from wood he also scavenged from the side of the road.