Pt. 4
Josh and I have a thing. Yes, I know; Josh and I have many, many things, but the thing I'm talking about right now is the pout/dimple thing. It's well known, but never discussed, that I am powerless against his dimples. It's also well known, but never discussed, that he is powerless against my pout. We've both used it on occasion to get what we want, and no doubt, we'll both use it again in the future. You know, now that I think about it, it's a shame neither of us has ever used it to get the other into bed.
Anyway, there's a point to my bringing up the pout/dimple thing, and this is it. Before Josh's meeting, he said we'd order in Chinese tonight and work from my place. After his meeting, I told him I'd brief him over pizza. Well, we've just arrived at my apartment, and it won't be long before the topic of dinner comes up. I want pizza. I'm in the mood for extra-cheese thin crust pizza. That's the way pizza should be. To me, adding other toppings just ruins a perfect thing. It's like adding sugar to strawberries; I don't get it.
So what I'm saying is, if he's got his heart set on Chinese, the pout might have to come into play tonight. I just want to warn you in advance. It's underhanded and sneaky, but sometimes you do what you've got to do.
But…back to the story…it takes an indiscernible amount of time to get from Josh's car up to my apartment. Actually, it takes about fifteen minutes. It's quite an ordeal. First, Josh takes everything, including the walker, upstairs and unlocks the door. Then he comes back for me and the real humiliation begins. To get up the 30 steps, he has to hold my right leg in the air out in front of me while I scoot up each step on my butt, using my arms for leverage. Now trust me, in the seven weeks I've been home, we've tried countless ways to get me into my apartment, and this, as ridiculous as it sounds, is the quickest, easiest and least painful of all those ways. Josh doesn't complain about this process at all. It's very unlike him; the first few times I worried that he was sick or something, then I thought he was learning patience; now I think there's a pretty good chance he's looking up my skirt.
"I'll order the Chinese while you're changing." Ok, here goes.
"That's fine," I say with a small, but not obvious pout.
"Cashew chicken?"
"Hmm…"
"Donna, you always get cashew chicken." He's right. I get cashew chicken, he gets beef and broccoli, we get an order of crab Rangoon, and we share it all. "I know, but I was thinking about something different tonight." "Something we both like, I hope." "Something cheesy." "Cheese in Chinese food?" Come on Josh; work with me here. "I don't know. I'm just in the mood for cheese. Gooey cheese." I step up the pout one level. There are five levels to my pout. I'm on level two. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz She thinks I don't know what's going on here, but I do. I heard her in CJ's office; she wants pizza. 'I don't know. I'm just in the mood for cheese.' Yeah right. I know what she's getting at. She wants me to suggest pizza. This is her reasoning: If I suggest pizza, then I think I've gotten what I want. That way, the next time we disagree, she can say, 'but last time you wanted pizza and that's what we got.' Like I said, I know the game. I'm a master politician; hell, I invented the game. Does she really think I'll fall for her tricks? I am a graduate of Harvard and Yale; I will not be played like a violin. I know exactly what I'm doing. This game is my game, and she can't beat me at it. I stand before you today, telling you that we will be getting Chinese tonight. And by Chinese, I mean pizza; cheese, thin crust. Here's the thing; I've got a weapon. My weapon: dimples. She can't resist them. She knows it, I know it, she knows I know it. When I flash the dimples, I've got her. But here's the problem. She has a weapon too. Her weapon: the pout. I can't resist it. I know it, she knows it, I know she knows it. When she pouts, she's got me. So, in times like this, the winner is whoever uses their weapon first. And she's using her weapon. Sure, if I flashed the dimples, I'd win, she couldn't resist them; but her pout leaves me dimpleless. Once I see the pout, I want what she wants; it's that simple. My stomach may want Chinese, but my heart wants pizza. I've lost. "Gooey cheese, huh? Maybe we should get pizza tonight. We can get Chinese tomorrow." See, I don't completely lose; I've already put my order in for dinner with her tomorrow. I know; I'm very smooth like that. "Pizza? Can we get thin crust with extra cheese?" She's just bumped her pout up to level three. There are four pout levels; at least four that I've seen. There may be more, but if so, I'm done for. In the past, a level four pout has led me to things such as giving her an entire weekend off, taking her to the opera, helping her move, and being her date for a second cousin's wedding. I even watched "Beaches" with her once. If there's a level five pout, and she ever uses it on me, I could easily sign over my condo and give her my job. By the way, please don't tell anyone about "Beaches." Don't get me wrong. The dimples have come in handy through the years. I've gotten numerous late nights at the office, a few foot massages, the occasional third beer when we're out with our friends, and a trip to New York to see the Met's play. Once, when my mother was in town visiting, I even got Donna to take her out shopping for the entire day so I could watch football with Sam and Toby. She uses the pout; I use the dimples. It's what we do. Now don't get me wrong. We use our weapons, and we use them well, but I wouldn't call it manipulation, exactly. There's a line we never cross. I never use my weapon to get her to break a date; she never used hers to get me to end things with Amy. Neither one of us has ever used our weapon to get the other to compromise our beliefs or do something they shouldn't do. This is what separates my relationship with Donna from my relationship with other women I've dated. I don't abuse the use of my weapon. Well, that and the fact that I'm…you know…not actually dating Donna. "Thin crust, extra cheese it is. I'll order it, you change." This earned me a smile. I order the pizza, which is really just a waste. I mean, pizza with no meat? What's up with that? I'm tempted to demand meat on half, but she's won this round. It's best to just face it and move on. I will focus my energy elsewhere, on the after-dinner movie. See, we've developed an after work routine. It started about two weeks after she got back from Germany, when her mom went back to Wisconsin. I'd bring work and dinner over every night. We'd work for a while and then watch a movie or TV. Yes, she's back at the office now, but she can't work more than 12 or so hours a day, so we've stuck with the routine. So, while Donna briefs me on arts in public education over pizza, I'm planning my attack. "Jaws" is on the movie channel tonight, and I intend to have my way. "Isn't 'Jaws' scary?" "You've never seen 'Jaws'?" "Maybe when I was a kid, I don't remember." "Well, you're going to love it. It's a classic." "Josh, 'An Affair to Remember' is a classic. 'Gone With the Wind' is a classic. I don't think 'Jaws' can be considered a classic." "No, it is. Really. Very few horror movies can be considered a classic, I admit. But 'Psycho' and 'Jaws' are the exceptions. Really." "I don't know." She looks skeptical. Here I go; I'm pulling out the weapon. I give her a half smirk, half smile, showing the dimples. "Donna, it's a great movie. They even have a ride at Universal Studios about it. Would they make a ride out of a dud?" She smiles at me, I've almost got her. "What if I get scared?" I step it up to full smirk; we're talking major dimple action. "Well, if you get scared, you can sit close to me and I'll protect you." zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Sucker. I love "Jaws." I just want an excuse to cuddle with Josh. He's all warm and soft, and…cuddly. And he has a great smell. He smells like aftershave and Irish Spring, suave and manly at the same time. When he goes out jogging, and you add in just a touch of sweat… Anyway, I've given Josh a chance to use his dimples, so he thinks he's won. And I have to admit; ego Josh is very sexy. Josh cleans up after dinner, which is possibly my favorite part about being incapacitated, and then we go to my room to watch the movie. Oh yes, you heard me right. My bedroom. See, I have to keep my leg elevated as much as possible, and the only way to do that on the couch is to lay down with my feet in Josh's lap. The problem is that when I first got home, even the slightest movement from Josh caused me a lot of pain. So, we moved into the bedroom so I could prop my leg up with pillows and we'd both still have room to sit. My leg doesn't hurt as much now, but I don't want to mess with our routine. You don't believe that, do you? I didn't think so. Anyway, we turn off the lights and watch "Jaws" from my bed. What? You can't watch a scary movie with the lights on; it's not natural. Leave me alone. As I was saying, we turn off the lights to watch the movie. The first time we see the shark, I scoot a little closer to him. By the time the second attack has taken place, my left hand is on his right leg and his right arm is around my shoulder. Another half hour and we're lying down curled up together on the bed with my head on his shoulder. Like I said, he's all cuddly. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz I'm startled awake by thunder. The movie's over and there's an infomercial on the television. Donna's next to me, asleep. I should get up and go home, but instead I just look at her. She's on her left side, facing me, and I'm on my right, facing her. Her right arm is out in from of her and my left arm is out in front of me, and they're overlapping each other, but other than that, we aren't touching at all. The only light is from the TV, and it kind of dances around her face. I could just lie here and watch her all night. I know what you're thinking, but it's nothing sexual. It's just…intimate. There's a crack of lightening, and Donna opens her eyes. We just look at each other for a few seconds. "What time is it?" I roll onto my back so I can look at the clock on her nightstand. "About 3, we must've fallen asleep." "I didn't get to see the end." She's got this sleepy voice that makes her sound very innocent. It's soft and a little higher than her normal voice. I heard it in Germany a lot; I've missed it. "They kill the shark." She smiles and closes her eyes. "Ok." "I should get going." I start to sit up, but Donna puts her hand on my chest to stop me. "Josh, you have to be back here in three and a half hours." She scoots closer, nudging her head into the area between my arm and my body, and leaves her hand on my chest. "Just go to sleep," she whispers. I stare down at her for a minute, almost afraid to move. My right hand slowly closes around her and I lightly stroke her hair. I reach my left hand over to the nightstand, find the remote and turn off the TV. Then I cover her hand on my chest with my own, and pull her a little closer. As I'm drifting back to sleep, I can't help thinking maybe we should add this to our routine.