Hey Do You Wanna See My Ass?

I’ve already talked a little about my sister’s wedding.  It was, of course, what brought me to Kentucky in the middle of May instead of around Thanksgiving or Christmas when I usually journey up to the cold north to see family and friends.  I’m not going to rehash all of that here.

Except to say, now that I can, that getting up at eight the next morning to take Mary to pick up her car in the Highlands, then making the almost two-hour journey down to my parents’ house was a very, very long drive.  I was tired.  Exhausted.  I hadn’t pulled a near twenty-four hour shift like this since… well… since college.  Oh, of course there had been all-nighters with Botboy’s deployments and Metalhead’s trips to the emergency room in the middle of the night, but with both of those, I’d been running mostly on adrenaline.  With this stuff?  I was completely tired… mostly delusional.

But still, I was happier today than I would have been had the night before never happened.  I wondered where Ormsby was now… probably sleeping like a normal person.  We were supposed to meet up after the wedding which, admittedly, would probably mean another all-nighter.  But you only live once.  And I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d even remember.

At any rate, the wedding came, went, and Ormsby and I texted a little during the preparations for it and just as I was leaving the county to go back to Louisville.  He’d remembered.  I told him that I’d text him when I got back into town.  He agreed.  I drove another two hours and pulled into my hotel parking lot, texted him, nothing.  Not for hours.  I wasn’t concerned about it… I was too tired to be concerned about it.  I ordered pizza.  I sat in bed and I ate it while watching “Friends.”  And then I fell asleep while watching the same show, figuring I’d text him in the morning about the Kentucky Kingdom stuff – the original plans we’d made months before I arrived in Louisville.

When I woke up that Sunday, I couldn’t remember, for a minute, where I was.  Or, even, what day it was.  I checked my phone, which wasn’t much help when trying to figure out my location since it is constantly set to Tampa.  No texts.  My computer lay open on the opposite bed… Facebook was up.  And then it clicked.  It was Sunday.  I was supposed to go to Kentucky Kingdom with Ormsby today.  And I needed to know whether he was coming to the hotel to get me or if I was meeting him somewhere.  I vaguely remember calling him, he didn’t answer, but he called me back and arranged to pick me up at the hotel.  We’d have breakfast first, then go to the park.

And that’s how the day started.  With a nice, large breakfast (larger for him than for me) at Cracker Barrel.  And we talked.  Because for the first time since we’d met up again, we weren’t in the middle of a nightclub, and it wasn’t four in the morning, and we could hear each other.  We caught up a lot… somehow or another we started talking about his ex, and about his emotional unavailability.  And I realized, as he talked, that it wasn’t just the most recent ex.  Ormsby did not have the greatest track record when it came to relationships.  I still didn’t agree with his decision to swear them off completely… I’ve never, myself, been one to give up (even though there were plenty of times that I’ve wanted to).  Oh, I take breaks, yes, but ultimately I get back on the horse.  Still, though, it was not for me to tell him how to live his life.  Today was Kentucky Kingdom day.  We were going to go have fun.  And then I was going to go back to Tampa the next day.  I didn’t know him well enough to try to change his mind, and even if I had, I wasn’t going to be there long enough to make it count.

He paid for breakfast.  Or he tried to.  There was a problem with his debit card and it wouldn’t process. Probably one of those things that happens when the magnetic strip gets desensitized… you know… when you have to swipe it through a plastic bag to make it work?  Except there are no plastic bags at Cracker Barrel.  So I picked up the tab.  But I was touched by the gesture just the same… when you’re the girl who is always doing something for someone else, sometimes it’s nice to have someone do something for you once in a while.

But then we were off.

The day started at the water park.  And it was the strangest thing… I was feeling kind of shy about it.  I had this new bikini I’d bought when I’d flown in two days before.  I liked the bikini.  And I was fairly certain he’d, at least, seen some of my photos from back in the day, so it wasn’t like he’d never seen me in one.  But still, I hadn’t modeled in a long time.  And despite the fact that I am an exercise fiend, I can still be self-conscious.  And I was that day (Ormsby will laugh at me when he proofreads this).  But I did it anyway.  And we spent the better part of the day in the water park, doing the slides, doing the wave pool, talking and laughing the entire time.

I was having fun.  And even the text message that I got from Mr. Ex, asking me to check on the house when I was there, couldn’t dampen my mood.  I did think about going.  Part of me wanted to see the place, but the rest of me didn’t want to ruin the good time I was having.  And anyway, I didn’t have the slightest idea what I would do with Ormsby if I went… I wasn’t sure he’d want to go… not there of all places.  But I asked anyway…

“Hey,” I said to him as he was putting things back in the backpack, “do you want to see my house?”

He gave me the strangest look then.  As if he couldn’t believe I was asking him that.  “What did you say?”

And I thought, then, that he was shocked that I was asking him to go see a house I’d lived in with my ex.  I felt my face flush, though that might have been a little bit of the sun, too.

“Do you want to see my house?” I repeated.  “The one I lived in when I lived here.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed.  “Yeah, that’s not what I thought you said.”

“Well, what did you think I said?”

“I thought you said, ‘Hey, do you want to see my ass?’” he said, laughing.

I lost it then.  Because it was hilarious, yes, but also because it was so direct.  I’ve been direct in my life, but never quite THAT direct.  I couldn’t tell you for sure whether he’d misheard that because I wasn’t speaking clearly or if it was some sort of Freudian thing.  And I wasn’t entirely sure which I wanted it to be… but it didn’t matter, really, because it was funny.  And because he wasn’t weirded out by the whole thing (whether I had asked about my ass or my house).  And because the sun was shining, I was having fun in Kentucky for once, and because there were roller coasters to ride and maybe dinner to have with him later.

So I put some jeans on my ass (that he didn’t get to see)… and we went to ride them.


Lord Ormsby Speaks:

(His version of the aforementioned conversation – in his words)

Out of the blue, she turns to me and says: “Want to see my ass?” WTF? A day ago she went nuts when I tried to grab it and now she wants to show it off? What a tease.

Oh, house, she said “Want to see my house?” Sheesh.

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