I want to have fun with you,
like those over-the-top, cheery people in rom-coms.
And I’ve got a collection of silly moments
stored behind my eyelids.

Let’s try…

You, me, a shower curtain, baby oil, and a trampoline.
When we finally catch each other—
after a lot of laughter, some cursing, and a strange sunburn on your back—
I want to be laughing so hard against your lips
while you check me for bruises,
until I forget how to laugh.

Let’s try…

That silly beach scene where we’re playing in the waves,
I push you into the water,
you tug at my bikini top,
and give me that mischievous grin
when I have to hide behind you.
Then you use me as your shield.

And the scenes keep coming, one after another,
and I get lost for a moment…
Sitting next to an old woman on a park bench,
I lean over, peek into your pants, and wink at her.

Standing with a kite on a sunlit pier,
while you try to find out just where I’m ticklish.

Lying under a tree in the park, reading Shel Silverstein to each other,
until we realize we’re in an ant pile,
we’re about to take cold oatmeal baths,
and we’re figuring out how many things two people can do in a bathtub.

And then I snap back to reality,
and want to try…

That time at Starbucks
when I told the barista my name was Bubbles
when we ordered,
and you rolled your eyes.

Then I pulled you into the women’s
bathroom and showed you why
boys like girls named Bubbles;
used your shirt to wipe my chin,
pushed you out of the stall,
and left you half-naked in a Starbucks
bathroom…
just as a crowd walked in.

Later, when you asked why,
after you’d gotten your revenge
and left me exhausted and dazed,
I’d say, “It was fun, right?
And it makes a great story, doesn’t it?”
It really does make a great story.

We’re a fantastic story, baby.

I just wish the foreshadowing
wasn’t such a pain
on a perfect day.