Hot Off the Press

I am a magazine junkie. I buy them constantly- at the grocery store, getting my prescriptions and candy at the pharmacy, and I subscribe to (too) many as well. I love all the fashion, all the stories, and all the gossip about people I will never meet. I devour them and feel sad when I haven't staggered the pages enough to last me. If I lived in a big city, I wouldn't mind standing behind a tall counter with the New Yorker and Marlboro's instead of my secretary's desk.

So naturally, when the newest Glamour arrived in the mail, I read it front to back. The best thing about magazines are their regularity, predictability- they will always, ultimately, say the same things, suggest the same clothes, give the same sex tips. This is why I turned to page 146. As a faithful reader, I know the guy who previously wrote this article has 'retired' because he is trying to settle down with The One, making him illegible. This article, written by a pseudonym-ed man called "Jake", is about a real life guy who dates in New York City. So when this new "Jake" is introduced, he begins with a pros and cons of dating/being in a relationship. The first pro listed for relationships is the following: "Nobody likes to hear their own biography. Again. And again."

It's a little disconcerting when I absorb it, and not just because he should have said "their autobiography" instead. After the first read, I nod. After the second read, I frown. Not telling your biography...does this mean we are weary, that we give up and become a couple out of laziness? I suppose there probably are people who settle that way. I highly doubt that I am the only person in love, however. And then I think about other couples, compare, and wonder how similar I really am to anything I read.

Sky and I don't have the typical magazine romance. We don't hate each others friends or family. We do not argue constantly about money like it seems we should- maybe because we don't have any to argue about. We don't have trouble thinking of creative dates, possibly because every night feels like a miniature date to me, especially after having to be satisfied with one dimensional online chats. I find him insanely attractive and he seems to tolerate me. We've rolled our eyes at each other, sure, but it's not followed by a night of awkward,sticky silence. Instead, we fix what needs fixed and move on with a kiss. I flip through tips on talking things out and spicing things up and have to smile.

A frilly article can't explain why he can show me the current weather conditions in England and i feel a swell of romance, nor can it pin down some of the things he has said to me- in all probability, very offhand-that make me swoon. I can't really elaborate on the significance of being able to say "bless you" when he sneezes from another room. I recognize it sounds saccharine, but that's the best part- it's not. It's just a life in which I read my Glamour in a half hour, then put it away, and feel lucky that my relationship and everything else in my life isn't magazine worthy.

It's much simpler. It's much better.