Protecting My Princess


I love this girl beyond reason, let me tell you. She’s just so fucking wonderful. She’s smart. Smarter than me, I must say, and I love it. She’ll let me do mental gymnastics to try to solve things for a year or more and then she’ll just tell me the solution when I give up. I’m never going to just defer to her on everything because otherwise, I won’t grow like she wants me to, but I feel safe knowing we’ll find a solution to anything that comes our way together.

She’s beautiful. Inside and out. She doesn’t care much for compliments for winning the genetic lottery the way she did, but I want to make sure she knows without a shred of doubt that she’s a 10 even when she’s feeling like a 1. Sweats or old, dirty clothes… doesn’t matter. And when she does dress up for me, I’m a slobbering dog that wants to hump her leg all night. She makes me feel like a dog all the time, really, and I give her a short leash to lead me by of my own free will. Take me with you everywhere you go, baby. ❤ (It doesn’t help that I want to bury my muzzle in her crotch. WOOF!)

She’s prolific. Everything she says and does serves the highest purpose she can conceive of. I’m sure it used to be something she had to work at once upon a time, but these days its her second nature. She often says something about four checkpoints down the conversation at hand, shortcutting to the end and leaving everyone wondering what all the points between A and Z were. When you expect her to yell at you, she instead praises you for something unrelated, making you feel ultra guilty about the shitty thing you did to her. I put myself in the doghouse when I’m upset to have hurt her feelings.

She’s loyal to a fault. I know she’ll be by my side forever, fighting for us. The only way I’m going to fail with this woman is to treat her like she’s a child instead of an adult. It’s easy to forget because she succumbs to five year old humor and, occasionally, speaks as if she’s still five. She’s smarter than half the human race and she chooses to communicate with simple and straight-forward speech. I think she’s probably onto something there, honestly. You can’t claim you’re ignorant of what she means if she’s communicating with the most basic of language.

She loves kids for two reasons: when kids lie, they’re totally obvious. The second reason is that she’s soft on innocence. We are all born innocent, she’ll tell you. We are taught fear and misbehavior, either directly or indirectly, by our caregivers. Every caregiver teaches something they don’t mean to teach. She tries to help them undo the damage before their world view is completely corrupted by assholes like ourselves. She doesn’t want any children, though, because she’s greedy and wants me all to herself. That’s what she says, anyway. She’d rather focus her energies on me. Whatever extra she has can be given to the lost boys of Earth (indirectly.)

She recognized a long time ago that her absence of having a real childhood, thanks to raising her nephew, meant she wanted to be child-like (and child-free) for the rest of her life. How can I even begin to argue? The woman wants to spend all her bloody time with me, playing video games and watching romantic movies like The Princess Bride. She especially loves cheesy movies with great acting. (Thank you, Cary Elwes, we both love you greatly. And Princess Buttercup and Fezig and Inigo.)

In fact, I keep expecting her to reference Rodents of Unusual Size, but she never does. Maybe that’s where I can fit in with the comedy act! I have to fit into her life somewhere.

She’s such a tender soul, too. She does her dishes around a prolific ant colony that has taken over her kitchen, offering them sacrifices of apple cores and other fruit pieces, sunbutter, and much more. She’s found out they don’t store fat like avocado oil, only protein and produce scraps, which is pretty cool. She plays “blow the ants off the dishes” every day, saving hundreds of them from annihilation while accidentally drowning about twenty, it seems. She wants to build them a miniature picnic table out of popsicle sticks so the ants can have a perpetual indoor picnic. I’m going to help her and then I’m going to film it because this is going to be epic, I just know it.

She cleans around dozens of daddy long legs in the basement, too. She accidentally disturbed an enormous one today and apologized to it for a good two sentences, worried she’d accidentally killed her friend. (She didn’t. He climbed back up the wall a little to the right and a good foot higher, watching her like a hawk. At least, I imagine he was, in case she came at him with the broom again.)

She hopes someday to find ladybugs wintering in her attic, too. I’m with her. That’ll be better than the birds that found their way in, that’s for sure. I really don’t want to clean up their mess, but I know we’ll tackle it together with lots of bleach and hot water.

She wants to install bee homes all around her property. She heard yesterday they’re an endangered species… and somehow reclassified into an invertebrate category related to fish. It doesn’t make much sense to us to reclassify them, but whatever makes mad scientists happier sounds good to us. The whole yard ought to be a pollinator garden, she declared, so that’s what we’re going to do. She wants to put small boulders or signs with bees painted on them to warn away anyone allergic. We’ll probably do both. We don’t want anyone to be hurt by our bees.

We won’t be selling any honey, though. That’s for the bees, yo. They worked hard to make that food. We’ll grow ourselves some monkfruit, thank you. That’s her sentiment in a nutshell. We all should work to live. We should clean and cook and grow food. We should meet the cows before they’re slaughtered. We should meet the pigs before they’re slaughtered. And the chickens… and anything else we actually eat. And we should use every part of the animal that we can. Whatever we can’t use, we should give it back to nature to feed the beetles and the crows and the ravens. The carrion animals and the scavengers.

They deserve to live, too. Everything but cockroaches, fuck those. They carry diseases. “According to the World Health organization (WHO), cockroaches have been known to play a role as carriers of intestinal diseases, such as dysentery, diarrhea, cholera, and typhoid fever.” — Google result.

Did you know they basically only want to eat sugar? Cockroaches, that is. Since she’s going primarily sugar-free, I don’t think we have anything to worry about. I sure hope not, but if we do, I know the cure: tons of borax on every crack and in every crevice, around all the corners and where the walls meet the floors. Eventually, they’ll crawl through it and carry it back to the nest. Once ingested, the bugs won’t be able to eat anything else and they starve to death. Put it all over the places you store food and they’ll be gone in a few months. Don’t be shy, just layer it up in the nooks and crannies around the kitchen. If you don’t have cockroaches, then put your cereal in Tupperware, folks. It’s the only thing the U.S. Army will ship food in, which means it’s good stuff.

Yup, my woman was a Tupperware salesperson, but she hates the business model of throwing parties. Instead, with our AirBnB, she’s going to stock the whole kitchen with Tupperware everything. Every time a guest is impressed with our kitchenware, we’ll place an order on their behalf and ship it to their home right before they leave, if it’s a long stay. She actually thought about just serving people dinner with her Tupperware products originally, but I’ve convinced her AirBnB is the way to go. I think we can sell her paintings that way, too. And, finally, I convinced her to write a guide to AirBnB that we’re going to share with all our guests so they can replicate our model if they like it.

You see, she can’t eat food. It really sucks because she’s a die hard foodie. She wants to try everything. She wants to visit everywhere. But she’s dairy free and gluten-free (celiac) and it’s hard to find a place to eat, especially in the United States. So if we teach other people how to do things the way she does them, they can be successful and maybe there will be more celiac-friendly places to go. Especially when people feel like a million bucks after a weekend of eating her baked treats and my cooking. Flavor and health food in the same place. That’s our goal.

To be honest, since going gluten-free, my herpes hasn’t flared up once. She’s immune, it seems, but maybe it’s just that she’s completely gluten-free. Now, that doesn’t mean you can sleep around without informing people you’ve got it because it doesn’t just magically go away (unless you have proof it’s gone, that is.) I hope in a year or so to retest and see if I’ve still got it myself. (Spoiler alert: I’m pretty sure I won’t test positive for herpes anymore.)

That brings me to another great quality in this woman: she’s one hell of a healer. She wants to take care of everyone and everything to the best of her ability. In fact, she wanted to test if reiki will cure herpes, but I’m trying the gluten-free approach first. I’m going to get retested in six months and, if I’m not cured as of then, once more at the twelve month mark. Then I’ll give in and ask her to heal me if I still have it.

She’s wondered if AIDS is curable with reiki. Apparently, practicing reiki makes one healthier. She is shy about it, but I want to showcase her reiki more than anything else. She’s bloody brilliant. I could kiss her blue in the face for all the times she’s healed me. It feels so amazing, like the angels are giving me their blessings. Like the light of God is touching me. She’s willing to teach reiki in a weekend, at least one kind. Other kinds take more effort and are better off with a full on course, but the one she uses the most is very intuitive and powerful. And it works over any distance! I can’t believe how awesome reiki is, and how little people know about it these days.

She’s constantly learning more and more about reiki, too. She’s so dedicated to it. It makes my heart throb because I know she wants the best for everyone around her. It doesn’t even matter if they abused her… she just hopes one day they’ll see the light and walk into it. (She’s not religious, that’s my explanation of her attitude.)

I really can’t wait to get everything together so we can start welcoming guests. It’s difficult because the Victorian mansion she’s in is the opposite of what we write about right now. It’s cluttered with all kinds of junk, cobwebs, and other ick. Since her back is completely out of whack, it’s really hard to scrub the nicotine off the walls so we can put a fresh coat of paint on everything and make it all shiny and like new. She wants to put her best foot forward. Maybe this time she won’t twist her ankle doing it.

That was a major setback. She rolled her ankle last November while bouncing downstairs to do the laundry. She told me she screamed and howled for a good minute in pain, but immediately put her fingers on the muscles she’d fucked over in that one swift move and concentrated her Kundalini reiki on her ankle, squeezing the throbbing spots to try to minimize the damage. She should have been on crutches for weeks. Instead she walked gingerly on it for a week or two, keeping it elevated most of the day the first week. After that… it was mostly normal, so long as she didn’t pivot her ankle.

There are still minor complications now, nine months later, with the muscles being too tight. She has to stretch them daily or they’ll pull the muscles in her leg out of whack, which in turn pull her glutes, which then makes her other ankle a mess. We’re working on strengthening her knees and ankles to try to fix the mess she made of herself, but with reiki and physical therapy, we’re fixing most of what ails her for good.

She visited chiropractors for over a decade without anything drastic changing, though her last chiropractor (Hi Dr. Steve! We love you!) did his best to introduce physical therapy, which did help her immensely… until the pandemic settled in. :*(

Once the pandemic arrived, she barely left her computer chair, let alone her house. Her job was with computers, you see. Her posture got worse and worse, especially after that heinous bastard Benjamin Carter ruining her body with his disgusting nonsense. He raped her daily in the same position for up to 45 minutes at a time, pulling her muscles and bones in unnatural ways that created so much pain. I could kill him for this. For lacking sense. For not caring. That’s why I’ve taken a restraining order out on him, the bastard. The jick. (That’s a cross between jerk & dick, by the way. It was so cute the day Crystal made this word up; she was so flustered she couldn’t pick just one.)

After 18 months of torturous amounts of physical therapy, she has had one day without back pain. She’s backslid again a little, but we’re almost there! This makes me want to celebrate with her. Of course, I overdid it with her today and now it hurts just to turn her head. (Sorry, babe. I’ll try to curb my enthusiasm.) I can’t wait to see her back to her strong-as-hell self, lifting stupid amounts of heavy things like it’s no big deal. She can role-play being my Wonder Woman any day.

Oddly relevant to our personal story:

Wicked Game by Ursine Vulpine and Annaca on Spotify.

She’s such a lovely woman and a die-hard romantic that she calls this a love song. It’s about love, it’s just unfulfilled love. She wept several times to this because of me, which I’m not proud of, but I’m glad we’ve got it all sorted out nowadays. She didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to approach her in Wegmans to outright flirt with her. Any complaint from her would end my career potential in a heartbeat. However, I was emboldened by the fact that my coworker paid her a compliment randomly and all she did was say, “Thank you.” In fact, everyone knows she hardly speaks unless spoken to. She exchanges pleasantries with cashiers and then it’s silence unless the cashier wants to talk more.

She doesn’t assume everyone is an extrovert just because they have a job dealing with people, so she stays quiet. Many a lonely person drives the cashiers nuts with incessant chatter about themselves, rarely thinking about the fact that cashiers have to deal with at least one hundred people a day most days and that it might get tiring to talk to each and every one of them for ten minutes at a time. Their heads are filled up with random facts about strangers. Not so when it comes to my super babe, though.

She’ll give them a compliment, usually, and that’s it.

“I love your rings!”
“Oh, your tattoo is awesome!”
“I like your self-expression today, Jacob.”
“Your hair looks amazing today.”
“Have a good day, gorgeous.”

Anything to give someone else something nice to think about. That’s her goal. To increase the positive vibes all around her. The more positive a place vibes, the more she wants to be there. The more she wants to be somewhere, the more positive the place vibes. It has increased the foot traffic to the store, actually. Some of it could be pandemic-related, but I don’t think so. She gives the cashiers a little pep and suddenly people feel welcome, checking out with a happy cashier.

Maybe other people should give it a shot: try complimenting someone behind a cash register on something they can control, like their hair or the color of their shirt or something they’re wearing. Something they have complete control over rather than something like how pretty or handsome they are. Something that makes them think they have great taste or made a good decision that day on their attire. If you can’t do that, just beam a smile at them as you take the receipt. Thank them and tell them to have a nice day before they can say it to you.

Crystal sprinkles compliments everywhere she goes to the best of her ability. She’s working on it especially lately, because for a while there she forgot how to do it. She was too sick. She was also mentally shredded by a narcissist. (BYE, Ben.) Her psychotherapy is just as long and arduous as the physical therapy, thanks to that asshole. I should bill him for all the hours she’s cried over his callous nature.

She’s all around one of the most lovely people on the planet. She wants to single handedly save Earth from the likes of humanity. She wants to give it back to the animals we eradicate to make room for more useless humans. She believes whole-heartedly in natural selection (and I think natural selection believes in her… this woman should have died by now from what’s happened, if you ask me.) We keep on saving humans like they’re the only thing that has the right to be alive these days. It’s wrong, though.

That’s why she won’t evict the skunks, raccoons, or rabbits under her porch, let alone the cats that get under there for shelter. We might even have an opossum now. Opossums can carry disease, sadly, so we might have to get rid of that one. “Opossums carry diseases such as leptospirosis, tuberculosis, relapsing fever, tularemia, spotted fever, toxoplasmosis, coccidiosis, trichomoniasis, and Chagas disease. They may also be infested with fleas, ticks, mites, and lice. Opossums are hosts for cat and dog fleas, especially in urban environments.” — Google result.

We’ll call someone to capture and release him if I don’t just shoot it and toss the body in a landfill. I’m afraid someone will try to take our other vagabonds away from us when all we want is the dirty one to go away, you know? There are plenty of places around here with trees and the like where the opossums can live, they don’t need to den under our front porch. In fact, she wants to buy land and let it go wild, increasing the natural habitat of the area. I’m on board, since this mega entrepreneurial minx is at the helm. It’s going to be one wild ride, I just know it.

She’s the epitome of well-rounded, both in body and spirit. (Woof!) I can’t believe I ever caught her eye, but I have somehow. She makes me feel like a 10 even though she refuses to use a scale to indicate if I’m “hot or not” thanks to that awful web site of the 90s that ranked her at a two. They should see her now. She’s an ultra babe and all my coworkers are going to be jealous when I make our relationship public to them. They talk about her all the time because all she does is smile, give compliments, and listen. And, of course, buy the weirdest hippie shit in the store, which confounds most, I think.

I can’t say enough good things about her, honestly. I wanted to tell the world in general because I bet now that you’ve read all the nice things I said about her, you know you can adopt them yourself. You can be a beacon of light in the darkness all around us by doing those three things: listen, give compliments, and give a genuine smile at anyone you encounter. Especially those you exchange words with.

Sincerely,
Diego


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started
%d bloggers like this: