It speeds things up nicely when you can’t bring your clothes to a tryst. We fall, spent, back onto the bed.
It is impossible to describe the feeling of sheets that do not move beneath you but, she feels the same.
“I never understand why more people don’t use it for this.” She says through heavy breaths.
“That’s easy. People, for the most part, are shmucks. They are all off watching Hitler shoot himself or OJ kill his wife or Jesus get crucified. Have you seen that?”
She shakes her head.
“This is a bit unromantic for valentine’s day?” I say
she snorts, “Valentine’s day is for Roy Orbison and tearful masturbation,” she says, mocking.
I laugh, “why does that sound familiar?”
“You said it last Valentine’s day.” She rolls her eyes, smiling. “So, go ahead, rant away.”
I look at her. “I love you,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says.
“Well?” she asks.
“Right, well, it is a mob scene for one. It’s also revolting. Millions, billions probably, of people all around and you can barely see shit but you can still hear him scream. I mean, it might look elegant and worship-y in stained glass but it’s damn unpleasant. He was a man after all and men bleed. A lot. Plus, the place is always mobbed with Chinese tourists.”
I move down the bed, laying on my side till our eyes level. I continue,
“Who would have thought three years ago that there were actually millions of naked Chinese people watching things like that? If you ask me people should be going back to watch him take a shit or pick his nose, you know? It’d be far more interesting and certainly more enlightening.” She is smiling at me in that you’re-full-of-shit-but-I-love-you-anyway sort of way.
“Why didn’t you go see him do that then?”
“Go watch him in the bathroom.”
“Oh, I did.”
“Was it as enlightening as you expected?” She says, adding a pugnacious lilt to the repeated word.
“It was just a dirty little man taking a shit but, I knew that already. It is other people who need to be enlightened.”
“You’re very narrow minded you know.”
“What? No I’m not. Other people are—yes I know that is a very narrow minded thing to say–but it’s true.”
“Just saying okay doesn’t end an argument.”
“It does for me.” She says not quite humorlessly, but close enough to be a warning. She rolls over on the unrufflable sheets.
Valentine’s day is much better when you never want it to end, and it doesn’t have to.