The Fireman, Part II of II
If you haven't already, you may want to read Part I first.
Now that he'd caught my attention, I was on the lookout to see him up close and in person. Our first encounter was as he was coming inside the front door of the building--in dark blue work pants, heavy black work boots and a tucked-in t-shirt that read WPFD. He was a fireman. A real-life, carry me down a ladder while my building burns fireman. He was much better looking in person. I held the door for him and said "How's it goin'"? He gave me a nod and a fleeting, but friendly reply. After that, it was official: We were going to start seeing each other on a regular basis.
We jumped right into a relationship. I slowly learned his work schedule, his TV viewing habits and even the order in which he liked to get dressed (underwear, socks, pants, belt, shoes, undershirt, shirt). I watched him do crunches on the floor (oh! the crunches) and even saw him clipper his chest in the bedroom mirror. We watched baseball together, though he never offered me any beer or chips. We cried together during sad movies and he read himself to sleep as I gazed into his eyes. It was amazing.
This went on for quite some time. I was truly happy and thinking that this could perhaps last a lifetime, but I was wrong. So terribly wrong.
One night, completely out of the blue--he jumped up off the couch, got dressed, and sat in the kitchen, waiting. He had a beer and then put on some cologne. Was he getting ready to come up to 2Retarded? Was it our time to consummate the relationship? I wondered if the magical bond we had was actually willing him up the stairs and into my arms. I wanted to hold him close and then fix his hair a little because it wasn't quite right. And those shoes!
And then he walked to the door, and that's when she walked in. Right in front of my face, the Fireman had brought a woman home. He didn't even bother to warn me about it, or show concern that I might be offended by her presence. Seeing her there stung me like a thousand hornets. In the eye. She wasn't even his TYPE! That slut. Had she no decency? Had he no respect for what we had?
That night our torrid affair was over. Not only because I couldn't bear to think of them together, but because I think the Slut made him close his blinds. I wish I could say I never looked out the window again, but I did. Thinking I'd get a peek of my lost love, all I saw was the flickering glow of the television against a now-obstructed view.
Oh well, lesson learned. Never, ever fall in love with a fireman. At least not one with window treatments.