“I’ve made dinner reservations for us and I bought something I’d like you to wear.”
Her stomach lurched; a familiar churning sensation attacked her innards. He was constantly buying something he’d like her to wear. Little bits of lace and satin, underthings that were uncomfortable and impractical. He wanted her to wear them to dinner or out with friends or to meetings so he could “think of her skin against them”. She hated it. The expectation of impending performance took the enjoyment out of leisure activities. She hated to have sexual obligations. She preferred romantic spontaneity.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, the kind girls dream of. As he flipped it open he said, “I love you and I hope you’ll marry me.” She looked at him. She made her decision. “I’m sorry. We don’t match. I love you for now but not forever.”