before we had met, back when we just read each other's blogs and occasionally swapped e-mails, i read this: "And calling people at midnight is just so gauche, so I probably won't do it at all."
i stood in the parking lot of the bar and dialed the digits he had given me as a consolation prize on my birthday. that night i had wanted a quick makeout; he didn't want his tongue being orbited by something that tasted like half-digested blue cheese and vodka. four days later, calling him from the parking lot, it was past gauche. it was, like, 12:30 a.m. -- literally half-past gauche.
"sorry," i said when he answered. "i know you think it's gauche to call people after midnight, but i'm at schultz's and ..."
whatever. he met up with me. except what i really said was something that sounded more like gow-chay.
there were other words that represent the start of our relationship. i used touche to flirt with him in the comments section on my blog; one of our first conversations was about the way crossword puzzles always have a clue that says sapphoro sash, to which the three letter answer is obi. something i liked about him while browsing his archives was the frequent use of the word lurid. lurid is a smart boy's word. then there was the time i used the word deflammatory, which he quickly informed me was not a word at all.
whatever. i like to think of it as word-people's version of what non-word people would call our song. you can have your james blunt, we have gauche.