Dave and I went to Morrisons yesterday after what was rather a sombre morning. I had put on my best seduction tactics and got a moderately lukewarm response, which helped to transform me from a rational lover into a quietly hysterical Woman.
Dave's moods are mysterious. Once the blues set in, no words of explanation or otherwise will be spoken and in my intimate experience on this matter, the reasons for this flood of grump can be anything (usually everything).
Quite apart from the fact that my stress-levels are just generally reaching a high-point as it is, what with LIFE, I was not about to be sent home in loveless, silent and 8£ poorer (nobody likes asking after debts). So I spoke - out of turn, it seems, judging from the response. I tried explaining how the silence and refusal to, uh, make out with me erodes any dregs of self-confidence I may or may not have left and that one always feels a sense of foreboding in the company of a tall, quiet man with very little warmth in the eyes.
To this, I must add, as kind and friendly as I find Dave's face in general, when anger makes a home in his head and heart it just sort of, uh, dies. Comically enough, it is much like the overly dramatical 'husk', only simulating the functions of a human face.
I read an article on how security mediates our relation to death. It is so true - especially if one is to apply a wider conceptualisation on the meaning and implications of the word 'death'. So in this relationship I feel rather at home and safe. Apart from the fiery fury that ignites in my chest when the fucker refuses to share (resulting in blazes of vindictive pleasure over him jealously writhing over the slightest implication of my affections wilting).
This is the Cosmopolitan world, where independent women have loose, naughty sex (for their own sakes and to the gratification of the receiving parties). This is also the Cosmo -world where I am still an emotional mess and require constant lulling 'yea, I fancy you. yea, your ass is fine' .
Eventually, after a mediocre little argument punctuated by my relatively amused, derisive and heart-felt giggles by the traffic lights I crossed over and told him I loved him. I took the bus and proceeded to consume my flat, cold croissant through a tipple of confused tears.
It seems not to be the Cosmo -world where men are 'always up for it' and that 'there's a reason for everything'. Hardly easy to grasp, these stereotypes, are they? How am I to make sense of the world and my relationships now?