Thanks for the Twister idea, LazyChestnut. I'll be sure to have great fun with that one! ; )

Dear Diary,

Interesting day. I was in the kitchen this morning listening to some music and cleaning up a bit before I went to work – you know I love Nelly, good tunes… good tunes – and I guess William was calling to me or something because all of a sudden he grabbed my arm. The man spun me around and looked all mad (as well as a little sexy) when he was yelling, "By God Bethany, why are you not listening to me!?"

I pulled the earbuds out. "Because I was listening to music. Sorry!"

His rage was suddenly stayed as he raised a (sexy) eyebrow. "Music?"

"Yes, music, the musical kind. Here." I pushed a bud into his ear for a moment before he ripped it back out, looking as if he were swatting at a bug buzzing around his head.

"What on earth is that godawful noise?"

"Music."

"That is terrible."

"You sound like my mom," I said as I set my iPod on the counter. "It's called rap. It's more like rhyming to a beat than singing, though."

"It's more like Lucifer's ravings!"

"Sorry then, I'll just have you listening to piano sonatas from now on."

"Forget it," he said throwing his hands up. "I never had a mind for music anyway." He grabbed up the box of cereal – he has taken quite a liking to Frosted Flakes – and poured a pile into the bowl I had set out for him. In his silence I pushed one bud back into my ear so that I could hear both him and the music. After a moment I looked over to see his eyes focused upon me. "So you were… dancing?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"When you were listening to your… music," he said with a wave of his hand as if he were continuing to assert that it was terrible. "You were… swaying or moving around in some manner."

Had I been? I guess I always dance a bit when I have that kind of music on – albeit completely involuntarily – and I guess I wasn't thinking about how insane that might look to him. "Yeah," I said finally. "I guess."

He shrugged and scoured the refrigerator for the milk. "If that even comes close to dancing…"

I laughed. "It does in this time. No one waltzes anymore – not to that music at least."

"What then, if I may, is good dancing?" he asked in a very high-handed manner as he held one hand behind his back and a bowl of cereal in the other. Oh, he looked so proper and smexy – standing as proud as could be in his flannel pajama pants and tee shirt.

"Oh, I couldn't exactly show you – not here, not now."

"Why not?"

I was a bit thrown by that and for very obvious reasons! One, you need a partner or else you look like you're giving a lap dance (even then you pretty much are). Two, I would be remarkably self-conscious. I mean, I'm sure a 21st century man would find my dancing passably good – nothing special but not atrocious – but for William, I would look genuinely wanton. Oh, and third, one does not dance privately for a plutonic acquaintance… even if he is incredibly sexy… or if he asks you to. "No. No, that… dancing nowadays is relatively harmless, but to someone of your time it would be… remarkably… brazen."

"Brazen?" he asked wandering to the kitchen table. "I mean you were moving your hips a bit, but how bad could it be?"

I shrugged, silently thanking the clock on my microwave. "I don't know… I have to get to work. You can find MTV on the television okay? It's like ten channels up from your history. Watch the music videos and subtract ten whore points."

He cocked his head to the side. "Whore points?"

"Like, the girls in the videos dance much more provocatively than most people, but that's still the gist, okay? I have to go."

He nodded and I went off to work.

Funny thing is, people only seem to care about what's going on in your life when you've got juicy secrets. Or juicy man pets. Either, or.

So I get Janice, who is an employee of mine – a sous chef – asking me what's new in my life. Even though I tell her nothing much, she still insists there must be something. There's always something.

Sure, maybe she is right. There is always something, a new favorite band, seeing some neat program on television – but nothing noteworthy, not between acquaintances. I hardly even know her, and I'm her boss, anyway. A maladjusted, strange boss, but still a superior. Since when has it been a good idea to press your boss for info?

I could hardly shake her before I could sneak into the cellar for the wine I promised William. I've never been a wine person. I've always been a real lowbrow beer gal. Not that anyone who drinks beer is lowbrow, it just lacks the sophisticated connotation of wine, I guess.

I do utterly detest white wines. They're disgusting. I like the red, unless they come in a box and then they taste like grapes soaked in acetone. I don't want something to take the paint off my fingernails, just something nice with dinner, for Budda's sake.

That's why beer is better.

So right now I'm in my office, pretending to do work. As strange and silly as I am in real life, I actually work very hard at my job and it pays off – inevitably I end up with stretches of time where I get to spin mindlessly in my swivelly chair and play with the Xbox I have cleverly duct taped to the underside of my desk. What's the harm? All the work is done, might as well keep myself occupied.

Hmm. Two hours left until I can go home. Note to self: Innocently take pictures of William so that I may Photoshop his face onto David Beckham's body while bored at work.

Dearest Diary (some more),

William was reading when I came home today, and how sexily he was. That man is a champ at reading. He's just so good at it, all leaning his head on his palm wistfully and gazing at the pages. Oh, I feel a tad faint at the thought.

When he saw me come in he replaced a bookmark in the pages and stood.

"So, how was your day?" I asked him.

William looked at the television as if he was worried it might sneak up and bite him. He shrugged. "I watched that channel."

"Yeah? What did you think?"

He cleared his throat and moved his hands behind his back. "It was quite… brazen."

I smiled at the way his face paled as he said that. "Told you so."

He leaned closer to me. "Do women often wear so little… and in public? It's hardly even undergarments. Hardly."

"Only the loose ones, really. Most of them dress somewhat like me – I mean, I realize I'm not covered head to toe but I don't flash my naughty bits around to everyone I meet."

William gave me an expression of utter bewilderment. "By God, you have the strangest phrases these days."

"What? 'Naughty bits'?" I asked. "To be fair I am relatively strange, even for this time." I tapped a finger on my lips in thought. "To be honest I don't know who says naughty bits… Would you rather I said 'jugs'?"

"You're right," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "You are odd."

So I'm getting to cleaning out the second bedroom while he continues to read (smexily). It hasn't been used since my roommate moved out back when I was still a student and an assistant manager, and I was leasing instead of owning. I'm glad I didn't get rid of the bed.

I keep sneaking glances out at my glorious pet in all his smexy glory, wondering how I might convince him that my bedroom was a better place for him ("Really, my bed's much more comfortable, and, no, of course it wouldn't be weird" perhaps?).

Dang, I just I found my lucky sock. Well, technically half of my lucky socks. The other one's been in my drawer for a year and a half. How on earth did I leave one sock in this damned room?

Oh, I think he's getting up.

Dear you (once again),

So William came in to ask if he could help, the dear man. He's such a sweetie. Man pets are so helpful. I mean, tell a dog to carry a box out to the living room and he just stares at you, sometimes with a vague expression of 'are you quite sure that I can do that?' Man pets actually listen. I am so happy.

"So you brought wine home?" he asked, having noticed the bottles I had carried in.

"Yeah, I got a nice Pinot Noir, one of my favorites – very smooth, a bit fruity – and a really rich Syrah, a hint of oak to it."

"Sounds nice."

"I think it is."

He did enjoy the wine with dinner, and between the two of us we managed to move all my crap (for lack of a better term – I have so much stuff that I just don't need. You don't even realize until you've lived without it for nearly two years.) into the living room. He watched a show on The French Revolution – which he found completely hilarious for some reason – while I washed the linins that had been under all the boxes for two years.

He was so excited to not have to sleep on the sofa again. And I told him we'd even redecorate in there too. My roommate liked unicorns for some reason – had a wallpaper border around the ceiling edges – Ugh. I told him we'd take it down as soon as possible after he stared at it, lip twitching in revulsion.

I had a momentary whim to ask if I could stay with him ("Yeah, I know how hard it is too sleep in an unfamiliar room – if it would make you feel better…") but I quelled the thought.

And Oh Lord – I found my game of Twister! Score! Happy dance.

That will be a fun toy to play with…. ahem.

I suddenly love Twister. Or Twister and wine. Ooooooh. Great idea.

Sexy idea.

I love my ideas.

Wine goes well with all sorts of sexy things. It makes them sexier ("Sorry! I'm just so tipsy I did not realize my hand has been on your bum… My mistake.").

Ah, man pets. This is the good life. Ta-ta, for now.