I did not go to the gym yesterday, because my date with Disraeli lasted ten hours, which might be a record. We had lunch and then we saw some art and then we strolled around Oxford Street and ended up in Marks and Spencer, of which more in a moment, and then suddenly it was time for dinner, so we had dinner and then we still didn’t want to go home until it was midnight.
He is a nice person and he’s had a lot of practise at being someone’s boyfriend, you can tell. I might not have been in my comfort zone, but he was in his. He was sweet. He helped me with my coat, carried my shopping, looked up suitable restaurants and how to get to them, etc. Added to which, he is older than 12, which makes a change, and can hold up his end of the conversation.
He wants to please. That is the main thing I noticed about him. He is a pleaser.
Damn him. Damn him for being so nice and easy to get along with. I think he is mine. I don’t sense any hesitation. I think he is already mine. Scary. I’m not gonna lie to you, I did fire off a quick email to the Honcho at two in the morning. I am not even going to feel bad about that. It was what I needed to do. I am taking a risk, letting Disraeli into my life, and I needed to just slightly raise my personal comfort levels by telling Big Poppa what was happening, because telling him what is happening is what we have always done.
So that’s that. And now Disraeli is going away for several days for work and I am relieved.
The details you want: