Because . . . wine.

This is the perfect thinking zone. If I can’t spend Friday night on all fours, getting pounded by a man who makes my toes curl and my heart melt, then dammit, I’m going to indulge in a long, hot bath while I contemplate what it would take to be with a man who makes me feel all over, in every part of my body.

I sing along to my boy bands from the water, luxuriating in my bathroom, taking sips of my pinot grigio from a mug.

Like I bothered with a wineglass. Mugs were made for baths. This is my second glass, so I should get a safety merit badge too, for practicing safe tub drinking.

As the music shifts to the Heartbreakers, I pop up, unable to control my excitement as I shimmy my boobs above the water. “I love this band,” I shout to the empty walls, then sing along to the trio of brothers who recently got back together.

My striped roommate saunters in, pops up on his hind legs, and sets his paws on the edge of the bath.

“Hey, handsome,” I say to Bruce.

He dips his paw lower, trying to swat a bubble.

I rein in a giggle, because he is transforming into an adorable creature.

Carefully, because one must try not to disturb an internet cat moment, I set down the mug, then I reach for the towel I left on the toilet seat, dry my hands, and grab my phone from the seat. Quietly, I click to the camera, adjusting myself without making a sound. I focus on the curious feline checking out my toes, then snap the money shot.

The cat sinks back to all fours and swishes out of the bathroom, indignant, as a new text lands on my screen.

A text that makes me grin.

It’s big and huge, and I can feel the smile taking over my whole face. The text reminds me exactly why Logan makes my heart do a little shimmy too—because he gets me. He gets what makes me laugh.

And in this case, it’s a photo of a band at a club and a sign.

Two Allusions with Illusions, Too

Laughing, I settle back into the tub and reply, since I don’t want to do anything but talk to him right now.

Bryn: And they have the audacity to insert a comma too. Who likes having to use punctuation in band names?

Logan: The answer is no one. Why don’t they just name themselves Two Homophones? That would be a good band name.

Bryn: You just started a new career path. Naming bands. Wait. Naming bands better. It’s like that old ad: “We don’t make cars; we make them better.”

Logan: It’s always good to keep your career options open. Band name consultant, here I come.

Bryn: But how is their music?

Logan: Begrudgingly good. Annoyingly so.

Bryn: Because you want them to suck as much as their pretentious name.

Logan: Of course. Don’t you?

Bryn: I’m a pacifist, Logan. I wish suffering on no one.

Logan: I suppose you’re a better human than I am. But is being bad at making music truly suffering?

Bryn: Ah, there you go, all philosophical again. I would think so. But then again, I also think true suffering is running out of pinot grigio. So, hold on one hot second.

Carefully, I rise out of the tub, reaching for the open bottle on the floor. I pour another cup, take a drink, and set it down. The wine is making me warm and happy, and I like it. I sink into the water again and return to the text. Maybe this is all I wanted tonight, just to hear from him, because texting is easier than thinking. Or maybe texting is helping me think, is taking my hand and leading me to the answer.

Bryn: I’m back. I’ve been double fisting. Mug in one hand, phone in the other. But I needed a refill . . .

Logan: Double fisting, Bryn? Sounds like this conversation just went to a new level.

Bryn: Oops. :) I’ll try being appropriate again. It’s just hard when you’re rocking out to Heartbreakers in the bubble bath on a Friday night with your third mug of wine.

Logan: Is this what you do every Friday night? A bubble bath wine tasting?

Bryn: Yes. And if you’d come around last week, perhaps you could have enjoyed this too.

I stare at the text I just fired off. Whoa. I did that. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe all the bath bombs are going to my head, making decisions for me. Making my choices.

Logan: *dies* It was sushi plus bubble bath and wine? Now I am triple devastated that our second date was canceled.

Bryn: Try quadruple. There was going to be sex.

And evidently I’m not contemplating too much anymore. I seem to be sliding right back into a certain zone with him.

Logan: Missing that makes me sixteen times sadder because I’m exponentially more depressed now. (Apologies for texting you. I should be giving you space, but as you can see from the band name, I had NO CHOICE.)

Bryn: I completely understand. Also, I was going to text you anyway to show you Bruce’s latest action shots—the other night, he swatted a mug. Tonight, he played with bubbles in the tub. Also, I’m glad you wrote to me, and I only partially blame the wine for me writing back.

Logan: Should we blame the wine marketers partially too?

Bryn: Actually, they deserve all the praise and all the blame for my state of mind tonight.

Logan: Since we’re praising and blaming, I’d like to be fully apprised on what they’re responsible for. Might as well set the scene, Bryn. They say a picture is worth a thousand words . . .

Feeling frisky, feeling risky, I snap a picture of my toes wiggling above the water. I send it to him.

Logan: You have purple toenails. That’s hot, and I don’t even know why. Why is that sexy?

Bryn: You tell me . . .

Logan: I don’t have a toe fetish, but purple on your toes is damn sexy. Hmm. Now that I ponder this, I’m sure they’d be sexy painted green. Or orange. Or pink. Or bare.

Bryn: Whoa. I got the unpainted toes seal of approval. I’ve never been happier.

Logan: Where is the emoticon for sticking my tongue out?

Bryn: Bet you can find it. Keep looking.

Logan: You are on fire tonight.