It’s no secret that I’m not happy.  I live in a shoebox apartment with no views and a window that looks straight into another person’s flat.  It constantly smells like pizza, and I don’t live near a pizza shop.  It’s dirty and vaguely damp and it has my boyfriend in it, who is safe and comfortable and I love him, but we’ve been together three years and he’s not willing to commit yet.  He keeps dangling the word ‘yet’ like a Twinkie on the end of a pole and I keep working as hard as I can at this relationship, at being the perfect version of myself, that I think one day I’ll bake the perfect cake or have the perfect promotion and fireworks will light and he’ll go, “I just realized.  You are the only person I can marry.”  I’m not an idiot; it’s not going to happen.  I just want so badly to believe that he can be the guy teaching the kids to play catch while I serve lemonade in the outdoor kitchen.  He’ll come over and wash his hands in the outdoor sink, that’s built into one of those bbq islands, and give me a big kiss and say, “Honey, this is how it was always meant to be.”

Technorati Tags: bbq islands, outdoor kitchen, outdoor sink, twinkie