Sunday, January 27, 2008

I am cheating on my man.

I confess. I CANNOT get this other man out of my head.

That's right. I am confessing to two-timing my fiance of over a year. Why? Because I gotta.

I can't help it. Man #2 completely stole me from under the nose of Man #1, who was at the time, filing story #82 for the day. While the fiance was giving me the goss on how much work he had and why he was unable, for the millionth time since I know him, to come see me as I lay, alternately bored and hysterical as I nursed my ill finger, Man #2 made me laugh and kept me wonderful company.

In fact, he sometimes made me laugh so hard, my tea came out of my nose. He said the silliest things with the straightest of faces. He sometimes made me understand, as only a fellow journalist can, why I love and loathe my profession. His every word helped me realise the benchmark I must set for myself. Even the most simple incidents become bizarre hilarities when he explains them. Like when he described how he Trick or Treated in his hometown as a kid: "I preferred to trick-or-treat as a vampire, which I felt was much scarier (than other disguises). The problem was the plastic vampire teeth. I have a powerful gag reflex, so when people opened their doors, instead of being terrified by the awesome bone-chilling specter of the Prince of Darkness, they'd see this short, caped person, retching. Their only terror was that I might throw up on their shoes."

See what I mean? How does one defenceless, emotionally disturbed person, nursing an injury and spending long periods of time alone, resist such a frank and refreshing sense of humour? Little by little, his wry observations on everthing, right from politics to tiling your kitchen floor, made me crack up and think about my world in delightful, wonderful new ways. It helps that he has a strong sense of integrity - he does not take many things sitting down. It also helps that he is able to explain so many concepts so easily - especially about how the editors at Cosmo are wasting so much time explaining to women '127 ways to drive men wild in bed'. He says, "You don't need rocket science to drive men wild in bed. All you need to do is to get into bed with them." After a good laugh over that, I settled into my own bed with him. He was still talking. "Even without technical advice, women will have no trouble getting men excited, as long as the men are aware that the women, underneath their clothes, are not wearing clothes."

I never thought I would fall for an ageing, pot-bellied wise guy while I was still confined to my home. I never thought I would listen to any man but the one pegging away in office. I never thought laughter could bring me out of my self-imposed blue funk the way this other guy did. And I never thought I would not be sorry letting another man in my bed, my life, my thoughts while I was completely committed to another.

At the risk of sounding like a crazed groupie, I LOVE you, Dave Barry.

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