Straight No Chaser

Love Is

...pulling an all-nighter to iron decals onto marcus's campaign shirts. seven hours straight. millions of t-shirts.

not millions. probably two hundred. and my original job wasn't even to iron; it was to watch marcha iron, to make sure he didn't slack off in marcus's absence. i'm not sure how i ended up with the iron in my hand. for seven straight hours. at the end of which, marcha remarked, rather blithely, "man, this man marcus better eat you out something fierce after this." i said, heh.

two hundred shirts. it was love. i hope that, for the rest of this week, every time he sees one of his friends all shirted up, he thinks of me and how i looked with the iron in my hand. he came up behind and kissed me several times, while i worked on it. it felt very nice, both to be kissed and to be appreciated.

and also, i think i'm going to feel quite terrible if he loses--primarily because i know how badly he wants this, of course, but also because i'll feel like it's my fault, like i infected the shirts with my fears about what his winning would do to our relationship. which, obviously, would be inconsequential. i'd be here regardless. loyal regardless. sewing and patching things even when he snapped at me because he hadn't slept in a week, regardless.

i love him and i want him to win, is all. lest anyone should try to mistake me for one of those selfish women.

and i love the music from the walgreen's ads.