Okay. I’ve been really good about this. I have behaved with great restraint, given how I feel and all. I have tried very hard not to tax my friends, as patient as they are, because I know that after awhile, even the most indulgent of friends stops merely glazing over and starts actively longing to take that stupid smile off your face with a brick.
Still. Gotta say it.
I am so goddamn stupidly totally completely utterly disgustingly absurdly run-out-of-adverbly in love.
Not that you hadn’t noticed or anything.
I could go into a lengthy digression about how and why and let me count the ways and god, the general adorableness, and did I mention that he’s awesome, to say nothing of the sex, and man, I could pet that shaved head for hours, and dude, he can cook, too, and he does more volunteer work than a one man Peace Corps, and he does this one thing with his tongue…but…well…see above bit about the brick. I understand. I sicken myself occasionally. I’m thirty-one. I am all urbane and cosmopolitan and cool.* I honestly did not expect to get this goofy again in my life. I mean…you kinda expect a whole bunch of years of marriage and a divorce to beat it out of you, ya know?
I’m dragging the poor bastard to Anthrocon, so he’s obviously in so deep that there’s no hope for him. (That, or he has no clue what two thousand furries in one place will be like. Possibly both.) Meeting my family is really no barrier–practically everybody agrees that my family is awesome, I’m more than half-convinced my ex stuck around for the last year because my family is so awesome–but the furry cons, now… if the man can live through that…
Hell, even if he can’t, I’m keepin’ him.
Thank you. That is all.
*QUIT SNICKERING AND LEAVE ME MY ILLUSIONS, GODDAMNIT.