The other night I ran into, well, let's call him Steve. I had known Steve for awhile, I had enjoyed his company before and at the end of the evening we ended up in my bed once again. The earth didn't just move - the universe was knocked off kilter.
Flowers did not follow the next day. The only phone calls were from my mother and my dental hygienist.
From previous experiences with Steve this wasn't exactly a surprise, but I live in hope.
Since I wasn't occupied arranging flowers or busy making sparks fly over the telephone wires I had time to muse about past lovers with an attentive girl bunny rabbit called Celie. Little One knows all about me and has watched the men that have made it through my door, sometimes with interest, other times with amusement.
I have gone out with "nice" men. The men that take the time to phone you, take you out and acknowledge your existence on the planet if you spend a night making love.
I know life isn't fair. But the rotters, the ones that never call are the ones that make me moan, make me laugh, make my spine tingle. Frequently, if they don't have coffee and bolt, they are quite creative in the kitchen.
For some God knows why reasons (God is a man) the men that are educated and considerate, that are loving and caring, are absolute gems in the outside world (you can even take them home to Mother) are duds in the bedroom.
The rotters who are erotic, spontaneous and creative do not want to be tied down to a woman, a steady job or a mortgage.
The nice men who are reliable, have good jobs and R.R.S.P.'s can only put you to sleep in the bedroom.
Celie is a good listener, her little pink eyes shine brightly, understanding the dilemma I am in.
It seems that you can't have both - either a good man or a good sex. Perhaps I'll follow in the footsteps of a favourite aunt of mine and forget about men.
Bunnies are good company.
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"THE" Collaborative Process |
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