Last night I went on my second date with T.H. We went to see Lilo and Stitch, the new Disney movie, which I can’t recommend highly enough.
At a particularly moving moment in the movie, I started crying. (Don’t laugh. It was a terrific movie. I would quote some of it but I don’t want to ruin it for those of you who haven’t seen it.) Anyway, as I was weeping at the animated beauty before me, I heard a little sniff coming from next to me.
Could it possibly be that T.H. was crying too?
This was too much to hope for. No one has ever passed the does-he-cry-at-the-same-time-as-me-at-a-movie test.
So I reached over and stroked his cheek, ostensibly displaying an inappropriate level of affection in public, but secretly checking to see if his cheek was wet.
I was so happy.
“Finally,” I thought, “somebody I’ll be able to put on a pedestal as a model of perfection, so that the first time he shows any signs of being human or failing me in even the slightest way, I can be completely crushed and disappointed and hate him forever.”
Then we went back to my place and had sex.