The other night, this old picture popped up in the weird ‘here are you picture memories’ phone thing. It’s from a 2015 trip to Palm Springs with my forever friend Elizabeth (WHO IS STILL THIS HOT), and it’s in fact exactly the weekend that I chose to officially Withdraw from Nicotine. Not pictured: my pounding headache and my cigarette dreams. Morrison came to bed. I shoved the picture in his face, and said:
Me: LOOK HOW HOT AND THIN I USED TO BE.
Morrison: *says nothing, but audibly bites his tongue*
Me:….THIS IS NOT A TRAP. JUST LOOK. I JUST WANT YOU TO SEE. DO YOU REMEMBER? DO YOU?!
Morrison looks. So carefully: ‘….Yes. You used to look like that.’
I do a long monologue about how it’s fine, I used to be that thin but I was addicted to nicotine, riddled with fear and guilt, potentially was never eating any bread? and I didn’t have Joe, and there were all the years of fertility meds and failed first trimesters, baking my feelings and eating my bakes, and I’m so happy now, and I have Him, and he likes me, so why does it matter?
Morrison tells me he likes the way I look. To him, I look like a medieval painting. I tell Morrison he looks like a Statue so maybe we belong Together. The Statue then cuddles the painting, hard limbs around soft flesh, and we go to sleep, the Painting wondering what the feed the Statue for dinner tomorrow, planning exactly how much Stuffing to put in the crockpot.