Sunday afternoons are when I think about you most, whoever you may be.
For some reason, I have vivid memories of us that I’ve yet to make.
But for us, if you end up being anything like I think you’ll be, Sundays are the best days.
It really starts on Saturday night. We try to have date-night at least once a week, and sometimes all that means is getting dessert at Applebee’s (because, who gives a fuck if it’s trashy as hell and the blacks in town treat it more like a bar than a shitty American chain-dining establishment? No one has anything on that Triple Chocolate Meltdown), and coming back home to share a bottle of wine.
And you know how I get when I’ve had a bit to drink.
So on Sundays, I wake up still tangled up with you. And once again, we’ve slept through the early church service. We have the best intentions to go, but when you’ve got the option to sleep just a little longer so you can stay up just a little later loving on your best friend, it’s hard to turn that offer down. And we’re not very religious, either; our picture of “God” looks a little different than that of our parents and some other couples we go to church with. But, it’s still something that you and I want in our lives (mostly because spirituality is something we want to encourage with our some-day-children), and we’re happy to go together.
Plus, I love dressing up and wearing good heels, and what better place to do it than somewhere you’ll make the older women blush and the younger bitches jealous? Bless their hearts.
And we sit pretty snuggled in Sunday School, and I spend most of my time daydreaming about lunch and trying to subtly kick your shoe off your crossed foot instead of caring too much about the “Seven Major Stumbling Blocks of Spiritual Growth.”
Bet your ass we’re out by noon, and it’s your turn to pick lunch this week.
We have our few favorite places here in town, but every now and then I like to choose somewhere adventurous. Sometimes, I make bad calls, but I always make it up to you by having dinner at Olive Garden. That’s your favorite, if you’re like how I think you’ll be.
But the best part is what comes next; the napping is the highlight of every Sunday. With full bellies and warm hearts, it’s back to the bedroom. We leave a trail of clothing from the front door of dress shoes, ties, sport coats and linen pants until we finally make it down to our skivvies as we fall into the sheets.
And that’s where I am at this moment… daydreaming about a life I can only hope to one day have with a man who gets just as quietly excited about Sunday afternoons.
But I haven’t met you yet and you aren’t here, but if you’re anything like me, then it must be naptime.