Don't Make Me

The other night I attempted to get dumped by inviting my beau to a folksy, estrogen-heavy performance by Toby Lightman. He usually reserves Monday nights for himself as a rule. He claims he is required by his laundry machine, though I believe he keeps his distance to avoid the inevitable CSI Miami episode. For this reason, it was particularly generous of him to drive me, in the rain, to Arlington and sit through equal parts acoustic man-bashing and sappy love ballads.

I was thrilled, giddy with her clever lyrics, thoughtful sentiment, and country/bluesy twang. He appeared to be ready to trade me in for a tattooed death metal drummer chick or throw himself from the nearest monument...i can't be sure which.

As in that weird movie Mating Habits of the Earth-Bound Human, i guess it is true that while dating it is not necessarily the activities we enjoy, but rather the company.

I did appreciate the company thoroughly. And for only a barbeque dinner in exchange, i think i made out like a bandit.

We joked that when the time comes for me to endure uncomfortable male activities, perhaps DC Meatfest or the National Beer Guzzling/Chest Beating Festival, he'll have an ace in the hole with which to convince me. In the meantime, I promise to only play the cd i bought last night solo so not to invoke any traumatic flashbacks.

Don't Wake Me by Toby Lightman