[chapter six]
Disclaimer: If you've heard of
them, I don't own them. Everything else is mine, so no stealing, pretty please.
;-)
**
I was chatting with Junior today, and he asked me what the most romantic thing a man has ever done for me is.
Apparently, he's got a gal he wants to impress and is fishing for tips. *smile*
I told him this story:
"I had been on the business trip from hell for a week. I finally got back and went straight to Brendan's to sleep, because I couldn't face my filthy, ugly, empty apartment. I go to Brendan's, open the door and the whole house is dark except for candles he lit."
"That's romantic." Junior had said.
"No. Wait for it."
"Those little tea light candles are leading up to his second floor, and presumably his master bedroom. I drop my bags and head upstairs and push open the door to Bren's room, which is filled with candlelight, and he's standing there with a rose in his hands."
"That's romantic." Junior repeated.
"No. No. That's not it." I argue before continuing.
"Brendan just smiles and motions me forward and gives me a sweet little kiss."
"Aww..." Junior tried again and I wave him off.
"In his eagerness to get laid, when Brendan flung his pants across the room, he caught them on fire."
At this point, Junior starts snickering, but I continue without pause.
"I tell him, 'Hon, you're pants are on fire.' and of course Bren replies 'Damn right they are, you've been gone for days!'. I try again: 'No, really, your PANTS are on FIRE.' Bren finally notices the inferno and leaps up, buck naked and tries to figure out how to take care of this."
Junior's laughing pretty hard now.
"Finally, we can't seem to contain the flames, so Brendan calls the fire department. He had to, because I was laughing pretty hard at this point. Firemen of all ages come blasting through the house and totally douse the master bedroom while I hide in the bathroom and try to get my skirt back on the right way. After a few minutes, the fire is out but the bedroom is totally trashed. The firemen leave, and poor Brendan is standing in the middle of the room, his charred pants in one hand and his pride in the other - and he's laughing harder than I have ever seen anyone laugh."
"That was romantic?!" Junior demanded. "That sounds like a nightmare!"
Now I'm the one laughing.
"No, that wasn't romantic. What was romantic was Brendan's decision to move our twosome to his screened-in porch, where we slept for the next few nights under the stars - no candles allowed. That part was romantic."
I don't think Junior quite saw it the way I did.
After I told that story, I realized how much I missed Brendan, and just how much I loved him at the moment he picked me up, dropped me into his porch's hammock and told me he'd never laughed so hard in his life.
He'd set his bedroom on fire in his love (or lust, depending) for me.
That's romantic.
Now I'm really, really confused.