polka puppy & love

So it's Valentine's Day
And though I would never admit to succumbing to crass hallmark commercialization, who I am I to say no to presents? That only, no flowers please. Anything that requires any kind of care, maintenance or time and attention is not most welcome.
That includes flowers, sharing space with babies, puppies and meetings with my chartered account.

Though let me go on record – there were no flowers or presents from anyone.
Even Blanket Nerve failed me. And I shall not even talk about other exes.
And P? Boy's night out. Plus I'm not really romantic with P. And we don't do things for each other. Odd it is maybe, but definitely comfortable.

The only other male specimen that comes to my mind, who should definitely proclaim his love for me is Polka. And he did not even bother booking tickets for our Goa vacation, slated for release a few weeks away, so then presents from Polka was definitely not meant to be.

But since I'm all about love care and gentle whack on the bottoms, I shall be nice. To Polka at least.

I met Polka on the blog. My old one. Not this one. No one reads this trite anyway.
That one was more favoured. At least it had five and half readers. And Polka was one of them. And as much as I wish I could say things like, then we fell in love, just like they do in You've Got Mail, and now having an extra-marital affair ( for the record, my extra-marital, his non-marital) happily ever after, none of that.
Instead I get arm twisted to try and hook up other hot sweet men from my workplace with him.
Most annoying. Especially since I'd rather go out one-night-standing with them, if they'd be interested, than pimping around.

And then there are days I feel Polka and I ARE a couple, considering the amount of shit I put up with, the time I spend with him, the housework I do for him, and the domestic abuse I go through.
I clean his cupboards.
Buy the presents he needs to give other people.
Shop only with him.
Buy the flowers he needs to give other people.
And when traveling, he's the only one I bought a present for. No I did not shop for myself.
His aunt thinks we are a couple.
We (I) gate-crashed someone's engagement pretending to be his girlfriend.
In my wedding album, I'm either with Polka or Brainchild.
So my mother-in-law thinks I'm either gay, bedding Brainchild. Or very straight, cheating on P with Polka.
For the record, I'm bi-sexual.
I travel half-way across the city to meet Polka. I don't even get out of bed to make coffee for P.
I have started an idea with Polka.
I usually look at ending things with P.
Polka knows all my email and facebook passwords.
And more often than not, knows if I'm wearing a thong or not.
He's my bouncing board.
And sometimes he thinks of terrible ideas for films that I'm supposed to be thinking of and presenting.
He's the saner part of me, unless of course, he goes to Benetton. That's where I'm a nun with restraint in her nerves and he's the puppy who has realized his leash has come off.
And he writes posts about me too.
Other people think he's the husband, P, since most facebook photos in lovey.dovey.happy.smiley.proposing.knees.on.the.floor photos are with Polka.
P is non-existent on my facebook profile.
And I'm non-existent in his life. Most people from his workplace don't even know he's married. We like keeping each other under-wraps. Like CIA high security shit.
But Polka is flaunted.
Partied with.
Made plans with.
Holidayed with.
And all that just because I love him.

And no, I love him. I'm not in love with him. Just for the record.