you're in the habit of denying yourself things.
if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.
but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?
what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.
and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.
you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.
so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.
it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.
sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.
oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.
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Couples Shit with Simon Riley (Part 2):
Having a giggle/chuckle fest almost every time you are intimate. It first happened at the beginning of your relationship when you would giggle every time you two kissed. It opened the floodgates, had let that nervous energy out, and Simon was right there chuckling with you. ("Heh—aw, fuck me.")
Swearing up and down that you're gonna fuck each other's brains out but as soon as you hit the bed, you and Simon are out like a light. The last time this happened, he was supposed to go down on you, but the next thing you know, you woke up to him fast asleep with his head on your stomach.
Kissing the bridge of his crooked nose and Simon turning into putty every time. Hell, kissing any and every dent, bruise, and scar, and making your man melt.
A nice round of horizontal tango turning into a cuddle session after you comforted Simon through a charley horse. Poor baby.
Initially making the telly watch you two make sex but turns out whatever you're watching was pretty decent after all so you guys are back to watching the telly again.
Getting hot and heavy one time but you were so intrigued with the mole you discovered on Simon's inner thigh that you spent the next half-hour or so trying to find other moles on his body.
Telling Simon that you "always wanted to do this" and when you get him hot, bothered, and hard, it turns out what you always wanted to do was measure him. His disappointment was immeasurable... even if he was interested to know the number.
Twinning in some way, shape, or fashion whenever you're out together.
Talking mad shit about his snoring but let him tell it, he doesn't say shit when you take up about 80% of the bed, covers, and sleep under him.
Speaking of talking shit, having disagreements like every couple does and when you go to bed, you're angrily cuddling each other. And yes, Simon still wants your kisses in the morning, even if you two are still mad at each other. Simon doesn't give a shit, you're still gonna love on him, dammit. And him on you.
Being mad with Simon when he arrived too late to get the creepy crawler that was harassing you. Harassing you by doing what it does best: be a creepy crawler. Simon tells you you'll have to conquer your fear one day. You tell him to conquer the couch tonight lmao.
Agreeing to disagree about the superior ice cream flavor in the house. It's too bad there's not any of his favorite ice cream in the freezer. There's some of yours, though. Why? You didn't get any because it was so superior that you wouldn't "dare sully it with your hands". Cue the judgemental stare and him eating YOUR ice cream afterward. Rude.
Scaring the ever-living shit out of Simon on the rare occasions he gets to sleep in. He woke up to you sitting up in bed with his mask and paint on. Oh, and he calls bullshit. He did not nearly fall out the bed. Nor did he jump. Okay, Simon.
Chilling and drinking with Simon. Finding out he gets hot and sweaty pretty easily and off comes his clothes. Waking up hungover the next morning and you're the big spoon to a naked and equally hungover Simon. Choosing to do fuck all but sleep it off that day.
Playfully calling or referring to him as the Missus, especially in front of your co-workers. When they finally meet Simon and ask him who he is, he replies in pure deadpan Ghost fashion: "The Missus".
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I can't stop thinking about Ghost with a motorcycle. The man dwarfs just about everything, but somehow he manages to find a nice either 600cc or 1000cc that fits him and he's set. He takes it everywhere, stares down cops and revs for the pretty things that wave at him from cars. All his gear is black, his helmet is tinted and he looks like a modern interpretation of death, but he also breaks to let turtles cross the road and doesn't let anyone on his bike without a helmet.
Backpacking for him is such a treat because he'll reach back and rub his hand along your leg at stoplights, tell you to "be good" every time you start squeezing somewhere you shouldn't. The man is a little bit of a stretch to get your legs around, but leaning against his back and watching the world whizz by is amazing. He always checks all your gear is on properly before starting the engine too, adjusting the strap on your helmet and bumping his black one against your more colorful one, helping you onto the bike even when you don't need it, and giving a little jolt forward to make you cling to him. The man knows what he's doing, and he's not going to risk precious cargo like you, but that doesn't mean you won't enjoy having you cuddled close and hugging him the whole ride.
He follows your directions every time you pat his leg to signal a turn, and stands around while you run into shops or up to ice cream vendors. What's he supposed to do? Say no? Not a chance.
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