A Marriage Proposal of Sorts

I thought my boyfriend would never ask. I mean for crying out loud, we’ve known each other for six years and we’ve been living together for almost three. I couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever ask. He’s been getting it for free for-EVER. I would never say it out loud but I was feeling a little, shit or get off the pot.

Last week we went to Costco to pick up a few bulky things, that we really didn’t need. As soon as we walked in, my boyfriend realized that he had forgotten his card, so off we went to customer service, to get a temporary card. And that’s when it happened. “Hey, let’s get an additional card for you. Might as well, right.” My heart started pounding, I flushed like a little girl, and I’m pretty sure that was a tear rolling down my cheek. “Do you mean it? You want me on your Costco account?” He rolled his eyes and gave me that familiar look of, what is wrong with you.

Okay, so it was only a Costco card, but it felt like a marriage proposal. We were married in the eyes of Costco as far as I was concerned. It didn’t matter that my boyfriend was oblivious to this simple transaction. And the bonus was that my picture came out great. Of course it’s black and white and the size of a raisin, but that’s when I look the best.

This Costco marriage continued when we soldiered on to Macy's. After buying a salad spinner, yes mother, I know I could’ve gotten it cheaper pretty much anywhere else, but I had a coupon, so back it up lady.

For the record, I detest shopping for clothes. I always have and I suspect that I always will. My boyfriend is much better at it. After I tried on several pairs of pants, that did nothing for my derriere and even less for my ego, we shifted focus to my boyfriend and his pursuit of a linen suit.

The next several hours, yes, I did just write several, I followed him around like a good little Geisha. I cradled potential slacks and shirts in my arms, searched the entire first floor for an available alterations expert, and collected receipts from my Costco husband so they wouldn’t end up as shriveled paper balls in the dryer. I sat on the faux leather banquette, outside of the dressing room, with other Geisha’s, and waited for my master’s fashion show. I felt like a complete and utter WIFE.

Upon returning home, I took one last fall when I said the following, to my boyfriend, “Wow, that’s a nice garbage pail that you bought. It’s really big and looks sturdy.” Why don’t I just sew up my lady parts, put on an apron and call it a day.

On second thought honey, I don’t want my own Costco card. It’s the devil’s spawn.

A Dolphin in Dubai

I’d like to think that my teaching skills improve with each and every, “Pull your navel to your spine”, that I utter. I’d also like to think that I can still become a professional dancer. One of my private client's is pregnant and I had her do a modified upper abdominal curl. I swear on my dead dog Little Ricky, that I saw her baby rise to the service and pop her belly out. I almost had an aneurism. I don't think that should've happened. I kept my cool and quickly moved on to another exercise. Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing after all.

And then I yelled at a client. She was bitching (and not the first one to do so) about how she couldn't feel anything when we were doing an exercise on the Reformer. She wanted to use more springs to make it heavier. I said, (and I may have raised my voice a wee) "You don't feel anything because you're not doing it right." I realized that this wasn't Pilates Boot Camp or a military drill, and immediately started back pedaling. I think I sweet talked my way out of it but I realized that I might have gone too far. My reaction truly came from my passion. Okay, maybe it also came from being a 'control enthusiast' but my heart was in the right place.

I have to blame the following faux pas on my education, or there lack of. I told my Serbian neighbor, and co-worker, that she was wrong when she said that Washington D.C. was the capital of the United States. I went on further to say that, "The United States doesn't have a capital.” I asked her if she learned that in Serbia. I said that I wasn't sure if D.C. was a state. This was not, I repeat, not, one of my finest moments, and if my parents are reading this, they must be very proud. I said that I was confused and not to hold me to any of it, but inside I was almost certain that I had never heard of the United States having a capital.

I Googled as soon as I got home and sure enough, the Serbs were correct. I have yet to apologize for my gross and embarrassing error and I hope to 'Allah' that they haven't already gone and spread the word in Belgrade. It is Belgrade, isn't it?

I went to Dolphin Bay at Atlantis in Palm Jumeirah this morning. It's a man made island in the shape of a Palm Tree. WHAT?!! I wouldn't normally do something like this but, please, a man made island in the shape of a palm tree. You have to. I also knew the water would be cool (they have to keep the dolphins breathing) and so what the hell.

It turned out to be really fun. The weather wasn't too bad and I was able to walk around without taking a humid sweat shower. I latched onto an Indian couple from England, who were on their honeymoon. C'mon, who doesn't want a little Dani action on their honeymoon.

They were very sweet and true to being newlyweds, when it came to buying the stupidly expensive pictures (that they try to sell you when you’re still feeling a high from swimming with dolphins), the husband could only think of their budget. He made a comment about their wedding photographer being cheaper than the photos. She wanted the full tilt boogie on a CD. Ah, marriage. It was such a racket. I bought three.

We all had a chance to hug our dolphin, whose name was Danita (it was meant to be), for a photo op. My hair was blowing in the wind so I shouted (as only a New Yorker can) at the photographer standing on the beach, "Wait, my hair.”  I fixed it, and then, “Okay. Now." Please, this could be my next headshot. I'm always thinking.

When I got home, I stopped off at a local restaurant for lunch. It's getting a bit tedious to constantly hear, "Will that be ONE?" Or "Are you ALONE?" every time I go out. The best was the woman who checked me in at Dolphin Bay. When I walked up to her podium to give her my name, she immediately said, "Oh, I think your husband just went inside." When I looked at her like she had three tits, she said, "Oh, I'm sorry... I thought he was... Never mind... Just one then?"