Back in college, it was Brad Pitt. I dreamed of him often, him wooing me, asking to hold hands with me, begging me for just one kiss. Sometimes I gave in and I doubt I have to explain how dissapointed waking up could be. (He’s an excellent kisser.)
Once he and Ms. Jolie got together though, he broke up with me. Yes, literally, in a dream. I cried but now, we’re all friends. We played horse shoes recently. Brad won.
Now, I dream of Adrian Grenier. And he wants far more than hand-holding and kisses. Yet, I resist. I’d like to think it’s my strong moral fiber, my inability to commit adultery. Even though I wake up wishing I had. It’s only in dreams, right?
The other night, Adrian and I were doing my laundry together (HOT!) and I noticed my black lace garter belt had gotten torn. When I moved to throw it out, he put his hand on my arm and said, “No. Keep it. I’ve always wanted to learn how to unsnap them like in Bull Durham.”
You know that lovely feeling you get in your belly after you’ve lived through a severe rollercoaster drop? That’s what his request filled me with. It’s the way he can look at me like he sees my soul, like he wishes I could read his mind. I’ve only been looked at that way a handful of times. We got to practicing straight away.
Let me tell you, he’s a fast learner. He puts Crash Davis to shame and the next time he wants to nuzzle my neck and take off my pajamas, I’m going to let him go much, much farther, damnit.