Boyfriend and I have been dating for just over three years now, and we’re still very much in love. This is new for me. Usually I leave after about two years. I guess when people say, “The magic was gone,” maybe that’s what happened in my past relationships. I just wasn’t in love anymore. I wasn’t as happy as I knew I could be. So I left. Imagine my surprise when anniversary number two came and went without any change between Boyfriend and me. Our love stayed strong, and I’m happy.
One night when Boyfriend came home late from work, he tip-toed over to where I was fast asleep to say hi before getting ready for bed. This is common for us; to prioritize a loving greeting before all else. Of course, I was notorious for talking my sleep at the time, and was completely passed out. Boyfriend’s hands are usually cold, and I’ve always been known to generate heat at an alarming rate. So when he touched my face and hand that night, I apparently reacted in typical sleep-talking girlfriend fashion: I said, “No no, frozen pizza, no.” Then I insisted that “Pizza goes in the oven,” and put his ice-cold hand against my white-hot stomach, and pulled my shirt down over it, encasing his hand in my own personal furnace-tummy.
Thus were our pet names born: He is Pizza, I am Oven.
He left town today for a great job, and he’ll be gone for two weeks. I’m really proud of him. He’s going to make it, and he deserves to. Meanwhile, though, I miss him pretty bad. I always cry when he leaves for a job, even if it’s only for a few days. The act of separating is what’s so hard for me. Being apart is pretty lame too, but I’ve always been good at entertaining myself. He says he loves me because I’m strong. I cried when we said goodbye this morning. I can’t help it. I love my Pizza.