Monday, February 18, 2013

Day Three-Ninety-Six: It begins

Man, Lord B.T. is even worse at romantical stuff than me. Here's his response to my letter:

'Hello Dragomir,

It is good to hear from you after so many months. I've been much preoccupied, and you doubtless the same. The young woman I previously mentioned has, um, well, suffice it to say that she is no longer my burden to bear. Thank you for asking about her regardless.

As for your line of inquiry, I must shamefully admit that my life has been spent as a bachelor. I have yet to meet a kindly soul with which to share liaisons, thanks to a combination of work, duty, and, er, a lack of proper partners. That has recently been remedied, though I nevertheless remain a stolid soul, quietly on the lookout for the right person.

In short, I have next to no helpful advice to offer you in… wooing… your wife. I do not see why you must woo a woman who is already your wife, and it sounds that she is more in the wrong, not you. Having dinner with a friend is not a sin. Perhaps we, too, might share a meal some day; would that prick at your conscience? I certainly hope not!

I can but offer you good wishes, and hope all goes well with Libby. If not, well, there are many more fish in the proverbial sea.


Lord B.T.

P.S. I sent you no letters recommending that you vacate Pubton. They were surely penned by some sort of madman. I will look into it.'

Great. So according to B.T., if Libby's annoying, I should look somewhere else. Yet MORE great advice from the pen pal. (And what's up with that bit about US having dinner? What a weird guy. At least he's polite.)

Lacking better advice, I have resolved to spend this week doing SUPER NICE THINGS for Libby. Like, all of the nice things that a man can do, I shall do. I don't have any big stuff planned, YET, so I started today by cleaning myself as thoroughly as I EVER HAVE. Dipped myself in freezing stream water 'n everything. Libby complains about the urine smell in my clothes, and I made sure it did NOT exist when she clambered into bed this evening.

She immediately sensed that something had changed. "… what's up with this?"

I grinned but said nothing.

She rolled over and stared at me. "Something's off. Wrong. What've you done?"

I flashed my pearly teeth and tugged at my smooth hair.

She grabbed at my face, turning it this way and that. "Something's… what the hell…"

I breathed on her. For once, she did not recoil.

"Huh." A few confused blinks. "You're weird."

Another smile.

Watching me cautiously, she slowly turned over to her side of the bed and went to sleep.

This is just the start, baby. Juuuuust the start.


Dragomir the Paramour


  1. There's a saying I'm sure we're all familiar with. "It's the thought that counts."

    I imagine that by the end of this week, good ol' Dragomayor will have thoroughly subverted that.

  2. I'm with Libby. It's kinda creepy to just get grins in response to questions... Reminds me of Grayson and all his smiling