Today I put on shorts. Last year, when I wore shorts, I was also getting some on a regular basis. This day, I wore shorts and it seemed to bring out the animal in that fiance of mine.
Not that I mind. I’m glad that we’re not losing interest in each other. Did I ever think that loss of interest could be a side effect of this experiment? I don’t think so, but it’s good to know that it hasn’t been.
There was one time the two of us were driving out to Boston, and we stayed the night at some hotel or another in Pennsylvania or Ohio. It was summer. I had worn a white men’s undershirt, aka “wifebeater.” He pinned me up against the wall and literally ripped my shirt off.
I want him to do that right now.
But, alas, it will have to wait yet another seventy-some days. I’m working on convincing him that doing it between the ceremony and reception is the best idea. That way the pressure’s off for the wedding night. I’m not planning on wearing pantyhose, and underwear is easy enough to quickly discard. The only problem would be the possibility of messing up the outfit, hair, makeup, etc. Of course, after eleven more weeks of this, I might just be willing to make the sacrifice.