Some insight into my life and psyche:

Mise en Scène: Yesterday afternoon. I'm at work. I receive a phone call from MW.

MW: What's up?

Me: Nothing.

MW: Sooooo....

Me: Yesssss....?

MW: So I've been thinking about things, and I think we should so something.

Me: Do what?

MW: Something...

Me: Listen, I'm working here, so if you could just spit it out....

MW: It's something we could do together, and I think it would would both like it.

Me: Oh yeah?

MW: Well, I'd enjoy myself, anyway.

Me: And that's what's most important, clearly.

MW: I think it's better if I show you....

Me: Okay... so.... I'll see you tonight?


And so, in the back of my brain, I thought about what this could possibly be. Dancing lessons? Volunteering at the soup kitchen? Bowling league? Adopting a foreign kid?

I continued to think about what this could be all afternoon. I made my way to catch my bus and meet up with MW, when it finally came to me. Swingers club.

It fit. We have been settling into our domestic partnership a bit and I don't mind saying we've leveled off a bit. And it's definitely something MW would enjoy, quite possibly more than I would.

This was it. My mind swirled. How do I respond? What will my arguments be? How do I feel about this?

We met up, and got onto the bus, sitting in the back seats. Screwing my courage, I finally say

"So, what is it you wanted to show me?"

"Well, I'll show you at home."

We wait a few moments. At this point, a snow storm is raging outside and the bus is crawling along. I'm getting antsy.

"Can I have a hint?"

"Welllll, it's something we can do together, maybe after Christmas. It might be a good change."

(ohgodohgodohgodohgod)

"And maybe my mother can help us."

(Wait, what?)

.......

"Huh?"

Eventually, MW takes his laptop out of his bag and boots it up. He goes into his My Pictures folder and shows me.....

Something like this.

"What is this?"

His face lights up and he begins to show me several more pictures of very bright, modern rooms. He talks about painting the walls, building coffee tables, and making art.

I smile while he talks, and take his hand.

"What?," he says.

"I thought you were going to suggest...something else."

Knowing me as he does, he says, "does it involve... that other thing we do sometimes?"

"Yes, but I will never tell you what it is."

"My mother wouldn't be able to help us with that."

"Indeed."

And so we rode along through the bluster, talking about paint chips and colour schemes, stripes and curtains... until we bundle up and enter the storm, together.