“I can’t believe you have a boyfriend!” Peter moans, only half kidding.
“Of all people…” Angela laughs.
The circulation department is disappointed, and I don’t blame them. I shrug and smile.
“What are you going to talk about now?” asks Peter. He means it. I spend hours discussing bad dates, broken hearts, and failed romantic gestures. “And even worse — who is going to entertain us with awful dating stories?”
There goes half my stories. There goes half the blog.
And my boyfriend (yes, I had to re-write that word several times, as it feels weird and unnatural) says the same thing. A perpetual single to his paired off friends, they look forward to his Jerry Seinfeld type stories.
“What are we going to tell them now?” I asked him the other night, tracing my finger across the bridge of his nose.
“I guess we can regale them with stories of young love?”
We kissed through laughter and turned off the lights.
…And like I said– there goes half my stories. There goes half the blog.