Southern California—1:34 p.m., post-Pamper-Her-Friday:
I may as well have been armless last night. What was their use without you to embrace?
Physiology says the brain, the epicenter of motor movement, prompts and controls the actions of the body’s extremities. The appendages are at the command of the brain, human anatomy affirms.
But what about the heart?
Call it an override–my heart over the brain–in the throes of Pamper-Her-Friday’s most sacred hours. The most vital organ of the human body? Last night that conventional wisdom was rendered moot–in your absence.
Sleepless in Southern California–I might as well have begun writing the movie script. Last night. If there are two character flaws I detest in the internal makeup of men, they are ‘needy’ and ‘greedy.’ Those foibles may well be the two most abhorred by women as well.
Greed is good? Wall Street may concur, but ask a woman. Need is basic? Water, oxygen and sustenance aside, ask a woman whether she admires that in a man.
I’ve long prided myself in the ability to enjoy my own company; any writer worth his salt understands that solace is requisite. His pen and creative mind are intriguing guests, no doubt.
But what of his arms, when the last sentence is arrived, punctuated by the final period? And his cottage is warm from the chill outside and the sangria-filled crystal glass is without its love interest? Empty arms can indeed be a sad state of affairs.
Somewhere in my sadness last night, I managed not to fall apart. I wrote. I drank. I reminisced. I motioned for your shoulders . . . without result. I summoned your fragrance, somehow still wafting amid the space between the four walls, under the dim lights, accompanying the haunting vocals of Sade Adu. Last night.
Yes, I appreciated my own company on Pamper-Her-Friday. I cast aside greed and need as best I could.
Your leaving for the weekend, deserving though you are of the personal getaway with your girlfriends, made me revisit my appreciation for my own company.
Given the option, however, I’d have much preferred my sangria paired and shared. Last night.
A man should never tell a woman he misses her. So, I won’t break male-policy.
But, I swear, the heart will at some point override the brain. If I could, I’d rewrite the movie script I found myself authoring less than 24 hours ago.
I’d re-do everything . . . about last night.
No, I won’t say I missed you, woman.
I’ll write it.
Tender are my thoughts,
Pamper the woman . . . by expressing your feelings. For tomorrow’s not promised. -Rg2
© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®