Weekend Reprieve

Saturday.

I usually spend my weekends engaged in study.
But San Fran Man arrives today.
Thank God.
Because, quite frankly, I'm gagging for it.
One of the few advantages of the long distance nature of the relationship is the resurgence of unadulterated lust that happens during the involuntary hiatus.
Therefore, sex is unquestionably the first item on the agenda whenever we meet.

I get up early to trim and de-fuzz certain of the more hirsute areas of my anatomy.
Not that I'm any kind of freak of nature, you understand.
It's just that while he's Stateside, I tend to let things get a little, for want of a better word, overgrown.
When it comes to epilation, I don't do the whole bald thing.
I have no desire to have my bits plucked like a Thanksgiving turkey.
I just try to keep things tidy.
But this last couple of weeks I haven't had the motivation to pick up a razor.

I collect San Fran Man at Dublin airport around 9am.
He has booked us 2 nights at The Westin Hotel.
Very nice.
This evening we are going to a Vivaldi 'Four Seasons' recital at The National Concert Hall.
Preceded by dinner at 'Bang'.
Preceded by a bang.
Maybe two.
Preferably three!

I have to say it is wonderful to temporarily not have to worry about my student-status living expenses.
No 'Pot Noodle' for me this weekend!
But there is a certain uneasiness that makes me feel like I'm living a double life.
It's not that I'm unaccustomed to the finer cultural and culinary aspects of Dublin.
On the contrary.
In my job, I frequented the best places the city had to offer.
But it was corporate money paying the bill.
And none of it felt real.
Essentially because it wasn't.

So now I eek out my redundancy money and don't allow myself too many luxuries.

And I lead my double life in shifts.

Like an oil-rig worker.

Pasta and jacket spuds forming my staple dietary fare for a fortnight.

Followed by 2 weeks of fine dining and fine wines when San Fran Man is in town.

I don't let him support me as such.

Nor would I.

But I'll allow him to pay for the pleasure of having me accompany him in the aspects of the lifestyle he both chooses and, I assume, can afford.

That's a very different concept.

He's welcome to share a 'Pot Noodle' lifestyle with me any time. 

And if he somehow ended up on his uppers, I most certainly would not love him any less.

Now, where was I?

Oh yes - because we are checking in early at the hotel, our room is, unfortunately, not available yet.
And won't be for a couple of hours at least.
We decide to have a champagne breakfast in the hotel's rather fine dining room.
We share opinions about how our eggs are done.
In eager anticipation of how our own respective eggs will shortly be done.
His: well-received (natch).
Mine: unfertilised (thank-you).
Both: enthusiastically (oh yeah).

It's a small torture making small talk over florentine and omelettes.
But the half bottle of champagne has somehow helped to numb the senses a little.

©Alacoque Doyle