Love Among the Pizza Boxes

“Dude,” the doorman says once I come in from inside.
I blink once and turn my head to look at him.
He laughs a seedy laugh. “Du-u-ude.”
“What?” I ask him.
He jabs his thumb in the direction of the elevator to his right. “She was really loud.”
I look at the elevator. “I’ve been known to make women scream.”
What?
Okay.
That’s cool.
Except I’m not known for making women scream.
Because I don’t sleep around with multiple girls.
That’s just weird and gross.
It’s like being a whore.
On Colfax.
Except a male version.
A male whore on Colfax.
I’m not a manwhore.
I’m also a virgin.
So I have yet to make any woman scream.
… Yet.
What?
Speaking of Shayla, I wonder if she’s still a virgin.
What?
No I don’t.
Yes I do.
God, that was embarrassing when she figured it out.
Why the hell did I name my dog after my virginity?
Anyways.
The doorman.
I’m still standing in the lobby.
“You are one lucky guy,” the doorman says, and sticks his slimy nose back in his Jane Austen book.
I nod. “Yes I am.”
Except not for the reasons he’s thinking of.
I’m lucky because I have Shayla.
I have her and she’s mine and only mine.
To have and to hold.
Till death do us part.
What?
That either sounds like marriage vows, or I plan to kill both her and then myself.
Which I don’t, for those of you at home wondering.
When I get back inside my apartment, Virginity is squeaking behind her bedroom door.
So I lock the front door behind me and let Virginity out.
“Hey, Ginny.”
She smiles a dog smile.
I smile back at her and lay down on my couch.
Ginny hops up on the couch and curls up in a tiny ball on my chest and I can’t remember anything else because I fell asleep.