You never realize what you have until it's gone. And when it's gone, you whine and beg for it to come back because you're nothing without it.
* * *
A few months ago at a birthday-slash-goodbye party, my boyfran, defeated, sat by my roommate and told her of his troubles.
"She doesn't like the way I dance," he confided in her.
"No, I don't think it's that," was her response.
"What is it then??"
"It's...it's because you can't dance with her. You're just a backup dancer when you dance with her."
I can only imagine his facial expression:
Why? Because he thinks he's pretty much the bomb too. And truthfully...he's not too bad, so I understand why he was offended when he found out he had to take a back seat to me.
In my mind, I'm the best dancer on the dance floor. I'm all that and a bag of chips. Expectation:
But in actuality, I've actually never watched myself dance. So for all I know, this may be the reality:
Which isn't a bad thing, considering I'm probably having a muuuuuch better time than most people who have been waiting to catch the bartender's attention for their first drink of the night or those standing on the wall looking all creepstar.
Knowing this, he's been dancing on his own or at a safe distance away from me. Some may think this looks awkward, but it really works for us. It's called compromise, people! And we sort of do it pretty well. Most of the time, anyway.
* * *
This past weekend, the boyfran and I went to join the St. Pattie's Day festivities in Hoboken with his friends, which I'd like to say--was a lot of fun. Near the end of the night, we were tearing it up. It was literally us against the world, like this:
But then, he must have started missing me or something because homeboy decided he wanted to get real close to me. As he was doing that, he somehow bumped me to the ground. It all happened so suddenly. All I know is that I tried to break my fall by using my b-girl moves like I did during Halloween of 2011.
Pfft. It didn't work. Obviously. I'm delusional. What happened instead is this:
He says he hurt me because we were "wraastling" because his parents asked specifically if that was the way I had been hurt. LAWL.
* * *
Tasks that were like second nature such as opening doors, texting, pulling plugs, and using eating utensils has become difficult to do. And my left hand is useless because I treat it like a princess. Please heal soon, right-thumb. I need you. I'm nothing without you. :(
Labels: boyfriend chronicles, getting my dancey dance on, life would be so much more interesting if it was a musical and we all burst out into song and dance randomly, thumbs are so cool