Last night as I got ready for bed, I called up Red Beard. After twenty minutes into the conversation, I was snuggled under the covers with his voice in my ear. We continued with our bedtime banter for another twenty minutes. I was delighted at how effortless our conversational cadence has become. We talked about work, our mutual friends and upcoming plans for our weekend together.He told me about his irrational fear of spiders and I shared with him my screaming terror over six-legged insects, dead or alive. We made a pact that anything owning six legs, he would kill and eight-legged beings, I would kill. See, we’re already deciding upon the division of household labor. We didn’t get into the responsibility of assassinating any creature having possession of more than eight legs (think centipedes) so we’ll have to hold that debate when the time comes.

Owing to our bedtimes, we reluctantly got off the phone. Red Beard called me “Pumpkin” and told me he would call me the next day. Today he sent me a very endearing email in which he told me what’s in store for me this weekend. He is going to fuck the shit out of me, he wrote to me. I can’t wait! Maybe it’s not the most romantic choice of words to describe what to expect this weekend, but I wouldn’t have him say it any other way. I really get his meaning. It’s deep. And hard. And vigorous. He signed the email, “Talk to you soon, Pumpkin.” Oh my god, how cute is this?

I am loving the nickname! Pumpkin, Pumpkin, Pumpkin. It makes me want to buy a can of pumpkin, mix it with Splenda, heat it up in the microwave and eat it with a spoon like a pumpkin glutton! Owing to collective awareness of A Streetcar Named Desire and the Rocky movies, we often hear the names Stella and Adrienne shouted in manly, guttural tones. I want to hear Red Beard roar, “PUUUUMMMMPKIIINNNNN!!!”

I’m giddy.