romance

Two friends, on profiteroles.

Cecily: Profiteroles are rather inspiring in the bedroom, I hear.

Christian: Don’t they crimple up under the pressure ? And the cream ooze out ?

Cecily: Quite right. They’re just fun little metaphors rolling around in our purses, waiting for the right moment to be brought out to ooze.

Christian: You keep profiteroles in your purse? An eclair might be more up your street.

Cecily: Eclairs, in my experience, beg to be eaten as soon as they’re bought. They’re just so damn desirable. But as a sexual presence, they’re too obviously dickish. And dicks aren’t really all that attractive. As a creative, I favour subtlety. Society has hopefully evolved beyond the phallus.

Christian: And so you start referring to testicular metaphors instead. Original.

Cecily, messaging while Marty McFly is in the bathroom.

Cecily: I am on a first date with Marty McFly. He’s wearing a half-denim varsity jacket. He said “Don’t cry for me Argentina”, when he left for the bathroom, and he has a watch with a digital face.

I’m into the weird ’80s/90s vibe, but I do feel like I’m living in a period film. He said I was like Zelda Fitzgerald. So our eras have collided into great making out and digital-faced watches and big vintage hats.

I will likely never see him again, because I can’t deal with someone who says the words “fresh” and “slammin'” un-ironically.

He has a haircut that makes him look like the Karate Kid. Also, he has Warner Brothers characters on his hoodie, and a cute smile. There are white pants and shoes involved, after Labor Day. He continually references Peewee Herman. He uses the Internet, even though personality-wise, it really feels like he shouldn’t.

From his touch, he may be really good in bed. We have a physical connection despite the lack of congruent eras.

Two friends, on narrative.

Cecily: I go through silly extremes. Last year, I worked myself to the bone physically and emotionally. Then, I was a voracious shopper, in glittering boots and Serbian rabbit furs. Then I became a restless housewife, befriended by laundry and experimental stews. The continuum of my life is so fractured, and my dominant personality traits shift so frequently. This is one of the reasons I crave marriage. It seems like necessary connective tissue in the narrative of my life. Thing is, I’m not sure if real life is supposed to have a narrative arc.

Xavier: It’s not. And if we treat ourselves like we’re fictional characters, then it will rarely be with any sort of actual justice or understanding. It will be a series of grand sweeping gestural things, and unrealistic narrativising. Leave that to other people to do about you.

Cecily: But narrative smoothness in life might help. Might help me keep a tabs on how I’m doing as a human. I feel kind of like a fish. A fish with nowhere to go, in a really fancy hat.

Two friends, on budgets.

Cecily: Raj says my version of being on a budget is purchasing a €20,000 dress for €2,000.

Ohan: That is a great deal. Especially if you can sell it for €10,000. 

Cecily: The problem is, I get attached to things. Especially things I have acquired through good deals. I feel it in my soul. In my blood. The deal-making. I am my mother’s daughter. 

Ohan: Which part of your blood makes you not sell?

Cecily: The Cecily part.

Two friends, on expectations.

Alexander: What do you want to happen with Ohan?

Cecily: I would like to see him once every six months, for a week of pure bliss, and never ruin the incredible beauty of what we have by turning it into some conventional full-time relationship. What do you want with Sam? Full-time lying on a beach and reading Proust to each other, while he occasionally barbecues kale and tempeh?

Alexander: I’ll be honest and say I want to know he’s not sleeping with anyone else, and to hear him say “I love you”, and a cute two-bedroom in Park Slope, with matching miniature schnauzers. Plus kale and tempeh in abundance.