The Grand Finale

No one seems to know where Forest Glen is, including me, but I did manage to make it back from there Saturday night. I crashed on the couch and woke up early for a shopping trip with one of my darling friends. We were slightly perturbed to discover that PG Plaza doesn't open until noon on Sundays, thus the significant effort we expended in order to arrive promptly at 10 am was totally unnecessary. We lounged about the mall for two hours, and I got a really great watch. The fact that I'm writing about this at all makes me suspect that Tattoo Boy was right about me. Nah.

After a dash and grab job once the stores finally opened, I hustled my way down to Chinatown for lunch with none other than The S. You know that feeling when you see someone that you really, really want? Butterflies? That doesn't happen with The S and I. I saw him Sunday afternoon, and thought "He looks like shit." Of course, I promptly said this out loud, and he graciously accepted my remark. Turns out he'd been up all night after bar hopping and deceiving women with his boys. My second reaction to seeing him after our long-ish hiatus was one of genuine contentment. It's the way I always feel when I first see him, but this time, it was even stronger.

As if there was any doubt, we slept together. It was part of the plan all along, much like eating 312 twice-baked potatoes before I went on my diet. So much of this part of my life has been about him; there was never any question that the last time belonged to him.

And now I can start again.