Living in the love bubble

MY daughter tells me she and her partner used to live in a love bubble.

This is not an address, apparently, It’s a state of being.

It’s that time in your relationship when you both think sweat is sexy, feet are erotic and squashing into a bed the size of a surf board is the desirable option.

So what happened? She’s with the same bloke, so what happened to the love bubble?

They moved out? It burst? Or just stop floating?

My wife says it’s natural; that you can’t stay in the love bubble all your life. You have to join the real world eventually.

I ran away with my hands over my ears.

I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want love to take on the same appearance as my baggy underwear hanging on the line!

So it’s baggy? So I’m baggy? There must be some way I can stop love going baggy!

What happens that makes me adorable when I cut my toenails aged 25, but revolting aged 59?

When and why do we start looking for bigger beds, so we can have more space to ourselves? There was a time when I offered silent prayers to the various gods of love if we were stopping over somewhere and I discovered the spare bed was only big enough to sleep stacked, so to speak.

Now I offer silent prayers when it’s the size of a helicopter landing pad.

What happened! I’m still me!

Well okay, I have hair in my ears and my digestive system does more manufacturing that digesting, but I’m still me!

Underneath the baggy exterior I’m the young bloke who leapt fully-clothed into the lake to retrieve her hat. True, nowadays I might look around for a pole first, but I’d jump if I had to! And I’m still game to drink champagne out of her shoe – although the cushioned insole might go a bit soggy.

Sometimes I open the top drawer where she keeps various items of scanty clothing and I am still thrilled by that whiff of perfume that is essentially her (various bottled scents that are not tested on animals, assorted lotions, sachets of dried native plants, incense sticks and essential oils).

When we were in our love bubble of course, I didn’t have to go to the drawer. They’d be strewn between the front door, the bathroom and the bedroom.

Sometimes even the car.

What happened? I still leave my clothes in a trail through the house but I understand it is not romantic. It is messy, slovenly, thoughtless and why should I clear up after you all the time as if I didn’t have enough to do without running around after you!

And when my wife looks in my underwear drawer it’s generally for a polishing rag.

I miss the love bubble. I want it back. I suspect we all do.

I never even knew it had gone. One day it just floated gently to the ground, put us down, and evaporated.

Then you look up and discover everything has changed shape. The underwear, the bed, the shoes, you… changed shape and showing signs of wear.

Tonight I am fighting back. I’m going to bring flowers, write poetry, nibble her ear.

She’ll probably check to see if I’ve smashed up the car.