Taylor is home, and we have wasted absolutely no time in getting back into the swing of our every day life. Part of me expected some sort of romantic whirlwind to kick up as soon as he dropped his last box in the living room, like the sunset would come bursting through the windows and the melting strains of Celine Dion would echo around us, and we would totally make out or something.
But no. We went out for sushi and talked about the mechanics of a possible job development I’m working through.
We are very much back to the status quo, a sort of “don’t forget the laundry, please pass the salt, thank you for getting the mail” kind of aura with a few snuggles on the couch thrown in for pizazz. It’s funny – sitcoms and Lifetime melodramas tell me that this kind of life is boring, that I should be yearning for a free Bohemian life in Paris, or a Brazilian lover that teaches yoga for a living. I should be staring out the window at work and sighing listlessly, pining for the excitement that every woman dreams of, but really? I kind of like the boring stuff. There’s a satisfaction in knowing that we can be our boring selves, our boring carpet-vacuuming, library-book-returning, margarine-and-egg-buying selves and be completely happy with each other.
Although we are thinking of taking up yoga.
Taylor’s return to our poorly-insulated spider-infested apartment has coincided with a brief heat wave, and if there is anything Taylor can’t stand, it’s heat.
For reference, see the diagram below:
Currently, the heat has climbed into the upper 80’s, but with the recent round of rainstorms Taylor’s body (and mine) had officially decided that it was winter and adjusted itself accordingly, which makes everything decidedly worse. Basically, Taylor has become a walking furnace. Every room he enters warms by at least ten degrees, and he constantly produces a steady rumble of moans and complaints. Stick him in a pioneer schoolhouse and he’d keep the ice off the windows all winter.
Anyway, Taylor’s supernova core temperature wouldn’t be a problem except for the fact that we haven’t lived together for three months, and I am sort of expecting an increased hug-frequency here. I don’t mind that he is currently one jillion degrees, but any additional heat, say, in the realm of 98.6, pushes him completely over the edge into mild insanity.
Me: “Aw, sweetie! You look cute today! C’mere.”
Taylor: “No. You’re too hot.”
Me: “Darn straight I’m hot. Gimme a cuddle.”
Taylor: “NO. STAY BACK. STAY BACK.”
Me: “WHOOO WANTS A SNUGGLE.”
And on contact he evaporates completely, leaving behind the faint scent of Old Spice and a coupon for Quizno’s that he was keeping in his pocket.
In any case, the Ten Day Trend promises that the temperature will drop drastically next week, giving us the fall weather that we’ve been waiting for. Bright skies and chill wind. I’ll pile on the layers (so fashionable!) and Taylor will be able to go outside without slow roasting like a rotisserie chicken.
How about you guys? I’m a tropical bird myself, but as pictured, Taylor won’t be truly happy until we need an ice scraper to operate the car.
Are you warm-weather-people or cold-weather-people?