my beloved, my one and only, the man with whom i am most intimate, decides last night that his bed should be called the "party pallet". my bed, in contrast, should be known as the "conference canoe." he makes me sound like i can't slip between the sheets without having to discuss "feelings" or "where this is going." and all this coming from a boy who, just hours before, so vehemently vetoed the idea of chocolate body paint.

i laughed myself to sleep.

the conference canoe.

sheesh.