Debbie Does Drivel

I KNOW YOU'VE BEEN WONDERING

So last weekend, Kev calls me on Friday around 6PM.
Barely able to speak he tells me he cannot be held responsible for what he does that night in Vegas, and that he has to handle the "overflow," and his scruples have left him. Then, he verbally lurches out an "I love you," in the fashion of "though I may fondle a strip-tease artist, I will feel awful about it tomorrow."

He hangs up.

I am understandably in a state of distress, as most insanely insecure women would be under the circumstances.

I ponder the meaning of the term "overflow."

I approach my dad and step-mom with "I'll have to raise this child alone" scenarios. (I had me in a really cool two-bedroom condo next to a park. I had me as a strong, graceful single mom who had many dates and whose dates absolutely loved my child, who wore glasses, was precocious and smart, and made many wisecracks. I worked in a sports agent's office and fall in love with an agent who decides to strike out on his own. The guy loved me, sure, but he loved my kid more and I was left wondering if I should marry him. But I do, then leave him because it's just not going to work. However, during my sister's "up-with-women" group, he walks back into my life and I see once and for all, that he had me at hello.)

Somehow, I make it through the night.

Kev calls me the next day with absolutely no recollection of the previous evening's phone call. He doesn't know what he meant by "overflow." He thinks it's a funny choice of words.

He assures me he is still wearing his pants right side out, and that he has no hickeys. And no overflow.

He laughs at my single mom scenario.

He says I probably couldn't afford a two-bedroom condo by the park.

I love my man.