A man after my own heart.

For the first time in as many years that I can remember, I didn’t have a blue Monday today. Quite contrary, I had a Technicolor day!

I mean work was as usual, blah, but the prospect of seeing him was akin to whatsherface running down those hills and singing “The hills are aliveee!”. To be honest, nothing spectacular nor out of the ordinary happened. I was just supposed to go collect the stuff that were in his luggage.

Then he said he was going to cook a simple meal and if I wanted to stay for dinner. Silly! My answer is YES, always. Like seriously, I think I would be equally enthusiastic even if he offered me food scraps or swill. Then, for the first time since I’ve known him in two years, he didn’t shoo me out of the kitchen while he prepared and cooked (he has this thing about not liking people watch him cook). If this is how domesticated bliss feels like, then where can I sign up?!

There was a little hiccup during dinner though. Without saying too much, let’s just say that father and son are not on the best of terms. His father barely eats western food so I was surprised when he wanted X’s pasta. But he kept complaining throughout the meal. How horrible it tasted, what kind of food was that and other mean stuff.

Obviously I had no intention of butting in, after all I’m an outsider, but I felt really indignant for X. Yes, it was a simple meal, but still he put effort in it. It’s ok if you really hated it, but was there really a need to insult your son like that? Especially in front of an outsider.

X did not react negatively in any way and I felt so proud (as if it was any of my business) that he was the bigger man. You go, Mister! Putting myself in his shoes, I can tell you things would turn out very differently. But I had a revelation there; no wonder he can put up with my uncalled-for tantrums at times. And I promise to strive to be less annoying because this man does not deserve shit like that.

We finished dinner and had a cup of tea and dessert and he flipped through one of the books I bought from Paris. We were just reminiscing (although it’s only been 10 days since we’ve been back haha) and chatting and then he suddenly quoted Hemingway. Like, wow.

Hold your horses. I know, some of you are rolling your eyes and going what a pompous dude but it was nothing of that sort. It wasn’t as if he was using old Shakespearean English. He just simply brought up this quote casually.

As if this man didn’t already make my heart skip a beat, I think my kidneys did a triple somersault too. My spleen might also have grown wings and fluttered away. Like, how freaking sexy is that?! I’ve always wanted a man who could carry out stimulating conversations with me (my inner pervert would wish for stimulation of another kind but let’s leave that for now) so that I could sometimes (sometimes being the operative word) have intelligent convos.

This man. Ahhh my heart. So just like that, he made me such a happy person today. I better go brush up so I can oh-so-casually quote Baudelaire or Tolstoy in future. Who’s the poseur now?

But in all seriousness, how am I ever going to let go and move on now?


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