I like you more when you lie

I was half way home when I realized it was raining and after five or so drops I realized I had forgotten my umbrella at work. Good, I thought, I can sport the sopping puppy look and when I get in she'll sit me in front of the crappy old heater of ours, take off my damp socks and rub my cold feet. As if I had returned from a jaunty mountain expedition, placed a flag upon our new kingdom and all I had to do was walk home from work in the rain. But she wasn't home when I got in and the apartment was cold as ever, the micro-climates of an In law in San Francisco can be embarrassing.

So I have two options in order to precede the idea of only just arriving and very much needing warmth I could A) Stand by the door and when I hear her key, snap on the lights as she enters or B) Have a beer and get the couch wet. Option B sounds like an unwanted dog option. Option A sounds like something you should never tell someone about. I am not an unwanted dog nor am I something you should never tell someone about.
She works downtown and usually taxis it home, the sole purpose of this is so she can open a bottle of wine she will need me to help her finish, keeping me from my beers. If I beat her home I have my beer and she will save the wine for another night and turn to the vodka. I will be wine free.

Any other day I would be celebrating, but not today, today I want to come home to her like our apartment is a house and like our problems are waiting for the bath water to warm up and feeding the dog we don't have.
I linger in the hallway and notice I am dripping evidence I am dripping like an hourglass of proof of my existence and I can hear the drops, like a ticking clock.

I run, run like you do when the trash bag breaks and drips all that gross trash juice, I run into the bathroom and grab the blow dryer and start to blow dry my existence from the scene of the crime err, lie.
Maybe a vacuum would do better, the cord is barely long enough. Do...

I like you more when you lie

I was half way home when I realized it was raining and after five or so drops I realized I had forgotten my umbrella at work. Good, I thought, I can sport the sopping puppy look and when I get in she'll sit me in front of the crappy old heater of ours, take off my damp socks and rub my cold feet. As if I had returned from a jaunty mountain expedition, placed a flag upon our new kingdom and all I had to do was walk home from work in the rain. But she wasn't home when I got in and the apartment was cold as ever, the micro-climates of an In law in San Francisco can be embarrassing.

So I have two options in order to precede the idea of only just arriving and very much needing warmth I could A) Stand by the door and when I hear her key, snap on the lights as she enters or B) Have a beer and get the couch wet. Option B sounds like an unwanted dog option. Option A sounds like something you should never tell someone about. I am not an unwanted dog nor am I something you should never tell someone about.
She works downtown and usually taxis it home, the sole purpose of this is so she can open a bottle of wine she will need me to help her finish, keeping me from my beers. If I beat her home I have my beer and she will save the wine for another night and turn to the vodka. I will be wine free.

Any other day I would be celebrating, but not today, today I want to come home to her like our apartment is a house and like our problems are waiting for the bath water to warm up and feeding the dog we don't have.
I linger in the hallway and notice I am dripping evidence I am dripping like an hourglass of proof of my existence and I can hear the drops, like a ticking clock.

I run, run like you do when the trash bag breaks and drips all that gross trash juice, I run into the bathroom and grab the blow dryer and start to blow dry my existence from the scene of the crime err, lie.
Maybe a vacuum would do better, the cord is barely long enough. Do vacuums suck up moisture and lies?

I can hear steps, quick street steps, nice lady shoe steps and then as I am diagnosing these to be hers, I hear the key grind and turn.

She bursts into the door, soaked head to toe (worse then I ever was) and stares down at me, half shivering, with a beer blow drying the first steps of the hallway.
She's cold and confused as hell, her mascara is running down her cheeks like she's been crying and for this I love her more.

"What the fuck"

"I didn't wanna get the carpet wet?"

"You're lying, try again"

"I like your blow dryer?"

"that's just weird, again"

I think we should move on, away from this moment but the hallway is very narrow and I am entirely a fire hazard. I am a sopping wet excuse less fire hazard.

Clear my throat...
"I love you? and thought we should get home at the same time so nobody is predominately responsible for warming up the covers, cause you know, I know your just better at warming up the covers."(sarcasm)

"I like you more when you lie"

"I know right, good thing I got all the hooker juice dry before you got home, that was a close one and so hard to get the smell out."

I stand up and push her drippy bangs behind her ear and kiss the part of her cheek finger painted by gravity with mascara and rainwater. When I draw back shes smiling and impatient.

"Oh and, my socks are wet" She says.