Reader, beware: this is actually version two of a story I wrote last night. It was all written up and ready to go out this morning, and damn Live Journal somehow ate the story during the wee small hours. So, I've been grouchy about LJ ever since then.
THE SCENE: The two of us, en route to meet Hot Coco and Mama Sue for sushi and martinis. Late, of course.
"...and then Dan said, I have a bitch in the box. Ha! Get it?" Corb's talking about a Facebook conversation I had with one of his friends earlier that day, for those of you who weren't actually in the car with us at the time.
"I get it, I get it," I said, trying not to let my jealousy show. "Dan has a GPS, which he likes to call his bitch in the box. But you know, my message to him after that was kind of funny, too."
Corb wrinkled his nose. "You told him that your bitch is named Corb, and you wish someone would put him in a box. That was mean."
I chuckled, amused as usual with myself. "Simply brilliant, I tell you!"
"Mean. Why would you want me dead in a box?"
"Not dead. Just boxed!" I reached out to grab a hold of his hand. "Ahhhhh, Corb. I think we're growing disenchanted with each other."
Corb pulled his hand away, leaving me alone with a stick shift. "Why would you say something like that?"
"Disenchanted. After eight years I guess it's natural. You know all of my bad jokes, I know all of your little quirks. So now all of a sudden it's, 'Oh, Dan's so funny!' and for Ted it's just...well, just a shrug. Disenchanted."
Corb looked less than thrilled. "You take that back!"
I chuckled. "I will not! But I love you, just the same."
Five minutes later, we arrived, fifteen minutes late. I sat across from Hot Coco and begged and pleaded with Mama Sue the Traveling Celebrity Spotter to sit next to me, until she finally gave in. Corb sat next to me.
"Ah, not sitting together, I see," commented Hot Coco.
"Yep!" said Corb, looking snooty. "We're disenchanted with each other."
"Oh good," said Mama Sue, rubbing her hands together with glee. "I like it better when they're not getting along. Better entertainment..."
The next day, during lunchtime, I sent Corb my standard text message: "Love you"
Corb waited a few minutes to formulate his reply: "Even if you're not enchanting any more, I find you tolerable."
I grinned, looking forward to the game that awaited. "You are not entirely odious to me," I texted back. "If given the choice, I would pick you over a shit-filled burrito."
CORB: I would choose you over an infection in my penis
ME: How sweet
CORB: A shit filled burrito would be horrible tasting
ME: Maybe with sour cream it wouldn't be that bad
CORB: True. Sour cream makes everything taste better
ME: It even makes the pus from your infected penis taste okay!
CORB: Well, I'll always have that.
And we'll always have enchanting conversations like that, you know, even in a state of disenchantment.
Which by the way, isn't really the case, dear Corb. Today, on your birthday, I just wanted to let you know that it's conversations like that that make me even more enchanted with you than I was when we first met...and for eight years together, that's saying something.
In fact, I think we need something special to celebrate the occasion.
Anyone have any burrito shells? Don't worry about the filling...we've got that covered.