Remember how I shared that it took a month or so before Mark and I shared our first kiss? And everyone was all, “WTH” and I was all “Dude, he was my Sunday School teacher! You NEVER make out with your Sunday School teacher on a first date. It’s in the Bible” and y’all were all “Are you sure he even liked you?”
Well, first of all, he DID TO like me.
And second, that wasn’t the only level of physical intimacy that we waited to… enjoy. I’m not going into any specifics because both of our moms read this blog (hello, Moms, who are probably having a heart attack right now) and Mark would, well, he’d kill me. And I like being alive. So let’s just say that when I hear that it is a common practice among my peers to CONSUMATE your relationship by the THIRD date I poop my pants. I seriously can’t believe it. I don’t know that I could wear a one-piece bathing suit in front of you by the third date much less… YOU KNOW.
So I’m sharing all of that to share this…
I was allowed into Mark’s bedroom one time the entire time we were dating.
The ONE TIME I did spend a substantial amount of time in his bedroom was only because he was painting it so there was no furniture in there. In other words, there was no BED in there. A bed that we could have… YOU KNOW.
(my mom is having an asthma attack right now…”Marie! You weren’t supposed to think about YOU KNOW before you were married!”)
Any time we made out it was on the couch in his living room.
(Mark is having an asthma attack right now… “Marie! No one is supposed to know we made out before we were married!”)
(I’m having an asthma attack right now… “Mark! You’re reading my blog?”)
So all of our make out activities were strictly relegated to areas where we could be walked in on at any time (he’s always had roomies) which meant we wouldn’t end up doing anything we were embarrassed to be caught in the middle of.
It’s a great plan. It worked.
But can I tell you that the entire time we were dating the thing I wanted more than anything in the entire world was to kiss this man in his bedroom. It was like that stupid forbidden fruit. And I wanted a bite.
“Can we go in your room?”
“Seriously? We can’t even just pop kiss in there?”
“Can I have a greyhound?”
Just kidding. Wanted to make sure you were still awake.
I was relentless, but not relentless enough. He was not changing his stance on In Bedroom Kissing.
I wish I was joking, People.
When we decided to get married I was positive that there would be NOTHING better than finally getting into his bedroom. With the bed in it. I mean, there were going to be angels and ponies and rainbows in there. I was sure of it. If you asked me the week before our wedding the three things I was most excited about this would have been my list: 1) Our Jamaican honeymoon, 2) Getting to sit on Mark’s bed and 3) Commiting my entire life to one person.
My first night in my new home was, well, awkward. We had just gotten home from our honeymoon, so I was already used to sleeping in the same bed as Mark, but this night would be the first time I was allowed to enter the inner sanctum. There was so much anticipation on my end that I really didn’t know what to do with myself. I waited in the living room as Mark got ready for bed because I hadn’t been given the verbal ok to enter.
“Are you coming to bed?”
“Um, sure… uh, where should I sleep…”
“What? In our bedroom…”
“Are you saying I’m allowed to enter now? Should I take a shower first or anything? What are the rules for… In There?”
“You are so weird.”
Weird AND ecstatic. We were going to pop kiss In There. We were going to make out In There. We were going to…. YOU KNOW IN THERE.
Well, we’ve been married a year and a half now and do you that the ONLY place we do anything is in the bedroom? The boring bedroom that doesn’t have angels or ponies or rainbows. Just dirty clothes and cats.
And do you know what I want more than anything in the entire world?
To make out in the living room.
*This post is proudly sponsored by the Coalition of Men Who Correctly Believe Women Are Never Happy.