Valentine's Day and Beyond

Eclair wears this Dior cologne called Hypnotic Poison, with top notes of almond and jasmine, middle notes of moss and sandalwood and a base of vanilla, musk and cedar.
The poor dear nearly had to Chapstick her neck from all the snarfing I was doing.
I hadn't been to her house until Saturday, but I was pleased to find her color sense and taste were good, her linens were soft and the whole place smelled really sensational.
Sliding into her bed that night felt great. It smelled like a little Eclair cocoon and I nestled in with instant, relaxed familiarity.
She has two kitties. They didn't automatically accept me, but they didn't bite or scratch me, so I'd say that went as well as can be expected.
Spencer the boy cat has no tail, not even a nubbin. He has a rather substantial ass though, and lots of fur that makes him look like he has on giant pants.
Chase the girl Calico kitty slept with us. She's got blonde eyebrows over a dark face so you can always tell how she's feeling, which is usually somewhat peeved for whatever vague reasons.
As part of Eclair's V-Day gift, I wanted to give her a couple of rose bushes instead of a tired cliche bouquet of womantic wed woses.
So Sunday, after she made me breakfast (pause now to feel the envy of having a pretty woman with nice legs in a shorty robe, scrambling eggs) we went to the nearby nursery to rose shop.
I was about to hoist an extra large bag of potting soil into the cart when this big, gravel voiced, bull dyke clerk stopped eyeing my Eclair long enough to ask if I needed any help with it.
I was appalled, gave her a defiant no and effortlessly wafted the bag into the cart as though it were a lunchbox-sized bag of baked Lays.
I was upset the weather called for long sleeves and prevented me from flashing my now-formidable biceps and triceps at the big, freakishly manly galoot.
Then the big dumb butch hovered around us as we eyed the potted flowers. To deter her testosterone laden, hulking presence, I used a few terms of endearment with Eclair and switched all my pronouns to us, ours and we, all the while glaring at Big Mister Girl.
Apparently Big Manly Girl's partner, Homely Girly Girl, worked the checkout stand.
As I produced from my bag a ball point pen with a logo for some anti-psychotic medicine on it, she immediately spotted the logo and started to paw at my arm with laughter.
Eclair said not too quietly under her breath, "Why the fuck is she pawing you? What do I have to do, pee on your leg?"
So E. started fussing over me like girly women do to establish territory, you know, picking invisible lint off my collar and sort of bumping herself into me, and staying.
We escaped the little shop of predatory lesbian horrors to the parking lot, where we found ourselves surrounded by huge, muddy SUV's with pride flag decals all over them.
Then as E. was returning the cart, a person of dubious gender approached her and asked her something. I thought it was yet another bulldagger, so I puffed up like an adder, ready to strike. Whew! When I learned it was just a pudgy, girly man, I was spared the task of having to go up and wedge myself between them.
New couples must give off some kind of engaging hormonal scent. Everywhere we go it seems people are *unusually* friendly, standing too close and talking too much.
But here's a new thing- when we enter a restaurant or store, people talk to her first instead of me.
I am always the one hostesses or clerks talk to first, but with Eclair they talk to her like she's the (gasp) leader. I think it may be her hair. She's tall and has a wild mane of long, blonde hair and I think it must make her look like the Alpha dog.
I guess I'd better practice standing off to the side, smiling goofily and looking lucky.

Meanwhile, taping the marathon L Word on Showtime in absentia didn't work out. My friend Cris masterfully programmed the machine to tape it all, but just before she arrived I labored over setting the VCR clock and sort of forgot the fine distinction between a.m. and p.m.
Between the two of us, we managed to tape an obscure Alfre Woodard movie and some other direct-to-video movie I didn't recognize.
That stupid machine. I know they intentionally make programming them complicated to embarrass Beta dogs like me.