Who Ordered the Folgers?

Blatant toxicity is ridiculously contagious- and literal distance seems to be the only reliable vaccine.

Once identified and isolated, not from a still raging pandemic’s deadly grip, but from within the rhythms of a friendship’s heated implosion, you can never be afraid to walk away from unhealthy situations- it always leads to better things.  Besides, grudges are just…dumb. And the perniciousness of their seductions can be a hard addiction to break, once caught in their cycle.

But I did walk away and I am breaking that habit to stroll in the healthier embrace of a genuine heart, not fake and foney ones, with their stupid little games played as a distraction from their own moral decay and glaring inconsistencies.

The story of that “break and block” was shared with a girl down in Tennessee, initially a substantive part of our conversation as I explained the reasons behind kicking some old “friends” out to a new curb.  And, as always, it was going quite well until I had to go and send that self-deprecating joke down to mountains.

The literary vacuum left in missing that particular mark compels me to here clarify my intentions with her because within the greater context of a text message’s muddled tone, my words failed me then.  But maybe they will now help repair that damage and answer her honest, difficult question.

And I have no hesitation whatsoever in stating that my intention is to one day propose to her.

But I never want her to actually marry me.


If it were up to me, I would much prefer that we simply spend the entirety of life engaged to a connection.  That would provide me a tangible justification to always be courting her heart.  It will be a significant reminder to never take her for granted and to instead focus all my energies on just enjoying the journey together.

And I hold no interest in ever stealing her name.  Or to selfishly push her into some outdated, misogynistic possessive captivity.  Because that’s just not cool.  Especially not when she has worked so fucking hard to free her spirit from the specter of previous abusive histories- she has unquestioningly earned the right to fly free as she sees fit, unburdened by unfair demands or expectations.

Honestly, I just want to be around to share the joys of delighting in this random, ridiculous journey together- with her, hand in hand.  I long to grow old gracefully within the shadows of her experience, while remaining playful enough to still say things that shock her and catch her off her guard.  To the point where she has no choice but to resort to giving me that… special look.  The one where she looks at me like she just walked into the room and caught me finger-banging an unsuspecting wiener dog.

I want to be around to help plan and organize her retirement party when that day comes, with friends and family gathered to help celebrate her achievement.  And I then want to be the guy who ends up stirring the party punch bowl with his gigantic dong.

I long to laugh and dream and dance and struggle with her.  I want her closer, without the interference of three states interjecting their complications.

Despite my many inhibiting flaws and mental fragilities, she somehow gave my spirit a new a resurerection.  And she accepts, and appreciates, the many quirks bouncing around inside this unpredictable artist’s soul, so often misunderstood and unappreciated.

I find a deep solace in her similarity and a unique compatibility in our differences.  And I revel in the uncomplicated, yet significant, equation of our many connections.

But more than anything, I want to hold her in my arms, embracing her close to help her greet the new day by seductively whispering in her ear those words all girls yearn to hear when being gently awakened by their lover first thing in the morning: the best part of waking up, is rubbing it on your butt ….

About Grey Fox

...author, fighter, lover, typewriter fanatic, and unrepentant Fenian bastard. Known to few, hated by many, but still typing the good fight.

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