A piece of golden stationery and a Honda Civic that smelled of cat pee led me to the door of a room in a fancy hotel. I pushed the door open. Andy, my Chinese-American boyfriend, stood in the center of the room, holding a rose. My nervous eyes jumped around the room. Huge bed, already turned down, decorated by a box of See’s truffles. The man knew me well. (One dinner mint on a pillow isn’t even an appetizer!) The room was bigger than my apartment. The furniture was mahogany. The floors were marble.
I was a fan of football, not marriage (Post #6). After I returned home from dancing with my Chinese-American boyfriend Andy on a Thursday night, I found a fancy golden envelope inside my dance bag. (All dance nerds have a bag, complete with Cuban heels and a wire brush.) My heart rate shot up. My palms grew sweaty, my vision tunneled, and I couldn’t breathe. You know, basic panic attack. Continue reading A Big Gold Flag (#21)
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