4.5 seconds flat

4.5 seconds flat

So the Boyfriend Candidate was over not too long ago.  It was getting late.  The kids were half asleep in the living room.  Naturally we steal away to the kitchen to make out like teenagers.  I love that, that whole notion of recaptured youth.  I never saw it coming as one of theose benefits of being divorced.  I get to slip through a wormhole and improve upon mispent youth.

So we’re in the kitchen and he starts whispering, which I find annoying because I’m trying to listen for little feet which may be walking in our direction.  We might get caught!  And there it is: high school.  Back then when I was making out in the kitchen I had half my attention on where my mom and dad were and what they were doing.  Were they talking?  If so, where in the house were they?  How many steps would it take for them to get to me and would that be enough time for me to straighten myself out.

I’ve gone full circle.  There is something beautifully insane about being afraid of getting caught by your own children when just yesterday I was afraid of getting caught by my parents.  Is someone always trying to catch me?  Is my attention always going to be divided?  How nice, how unusual it would be during these deeply meaningful, developmental make out sessions, if I could just enjoy and listen to my own internal musings.  How much of lust is ultimately riddled with fear?  It does make me wonder if they are intertwined and related.  And is that ultimately dishonest?  If I’m not paying attention to me or my guy in those moments, am I really there with him?  Can I really enjoy it?

What a bunch of BS.  Oh yeah, the moment can be enjoyed.  Just as long as I can get my clothese back on in 4.5 seconds.

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