I wasn't listening to her. There I was, sitting on my porch, momentarily alone and comfortable, sunset, a cherry hinted cigarillo, in my porch swing, single mindedly enjoying the first katydids, just back from a leisurely stroll for the evening in an effort to lose at least ten more pounds. She came out asking me more questions as she commonly does, but I didn't want to play our game last night. "What is it about women that make them so nosey and make them ask so many questions?" I blurted out, callously, and then blushed. Snippety. I had crossed the line between conversational and brusque. You quietly left to go sit in the den and pout with me. I felt terrible. "I'm sorry," I said walking through my porch door. "I didn't mean to be so blunt." You smile and forgive me. I am taken aback because my ex-wife or ex-girlfriend, Carolyn, wouldn't have spoken to me for a week for doing such a thing. Your kindness and understanding made me feel inadequate.
Some people live for the drama of an intimate relationship. I abhor it. I can stumble through a delicate situation like a blind man in an unfamiliar room full of furniture. These little social tangos are the most exasperatingly complicated dance of rules, feelings, and heightened emotion. It takes a special soul to be able to put up with my social foibles and misgivings and Rosa seems to be the one. She can read me like a book and knows my moods. We finished the rest of the evening on the porch as darkness fell, cigarillos in hand, with Maggie at our feet. The katydids and you were comforting. All was forgiven.