December 23, 2001
Cracker of Nuts
We were very glamorous, despite my eyes still somewhat puffy from crying.
About the usual, with unsual consolation.
Ryan dressed all in black, a bowling shirt and his service shoes. The collar of a white shirt peeking out at his neck. His new watch glitters on his tan wrist, he smiles and is irresistable.
I in a lowcut blouse without the boobs to support it, but looking smashing anyway with the supplement of a long black skirt and the ruby glass earrings. My hair hangs straight at my shoulders, due to the miracle that is my cousin's hair iron.
We are at the ballet.
We are delicious and sophisticated and captivating and Calvin Klein-esque.
We are giggling in the third balcony about the squashed penisis of the male ballet dancers.
I am squeezing his hand every few minutes to make sure he stays awake.
He is remarking offhandedly about the strangely pointed hair of the conductor and the big nose of Herr Drosselmeier or swearing that one of the male dancers just touched a female dancer's breast.
He forgets that ballet dancers do not have breasts.
And that they get equal the panty shots of the average high school cheerleader.
But I loved it. My favorite dance being that of the Sugarplum fairies. I say plural and I mean plural. The actual Sugar Plum Fairy wasn't so bad, but I liked the group of fairies that preceded and accompanied her.
I loved Ryan next to me. I liked looking over at him with smoky eyes and feeling beautiful and warm. I loved riding the escalator up to our balcony, his arm casually about me, I admiring the architecture and the beautiful people and then smiling and burying my face in the shoulder of his leather jacket, as close to blissfull as I've been or will be.
Somehow I cannot end without adding at least this:
"Dude, I've so been looking down my shirt all night."
"What a coincidence."
We laugh as the rain patters down on the roof of the car, waiting for our futures to arrive.
I told him I want them to coincide.
astera at fabulous