This Time Around

As I was walking to the door of my hotel room, I felt an arm reach out and grab me, pulling me into their room.
"Simon!"

"Paula!" he exclaimed, mimicking my tone.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I want to show you something."

"Well you didn’t have to yank my arm out of its socket," I said, rubbing my shoulder.

"Sorry," he responded unsympathetically, patting my arm chastely.

"Sit," he said, pointing to the bed.

"Wow, if this is foreplay, you’re really losing your touch."

He shot me a sideways glance.

"It’s not always about sex to me, remember Paula?"

"I remember," I smiled.

"I have something to show you."

"What?"

He walked over to the television and pressed the play button.

It was the Top Four episode of Idol, and I was speaking to Fantasia, after she had finished her performance of Knock on Wood.

"What’s great about you Fantasia is you always know how to pick the best songs. You always pick the songs that show the best quality of your voice and give you the best performance. You know, you gave the type of the karate you broke through the wood. You didn’t just knock on it, you karated through it. Great job."

I cringed.

"Simon, if this is another one of your ways to make fun of my analogies-" I began.

"Shh, shh! Just listen."

I stopped, mouth agape, and focused my attention back to the episode.

Simon was mimicking me on television.

I had forgotten about this.

"-The kind of karate chop I want to do on his face!" I said on the show, motioning towards Simon. "No, I love you," I finished.

Simon paused the tape.

"See? That’s twice now you’ve admitted it. And that time on national television."

"No, you misunderstood me," I said simply.

"How so?" he asked, looking purely confused. "Here, maybe you didn’t hear it right. Let me rewind."

"I-," I began.

"Shh!" he shushed me, playing the tape again.

"No, I love you."

He paused the tape again.

"See? You said you loved me. How can I misunderstand that?"

"That’s right, I said I loved you. I didn’t say I was in love with you."

"Oh, so one minute you claim insanity the next minute you just say there’s a difference of definition. Well, I don’t buy it. That’s proof right there, darling," he said, motioning at the TV.

I giggled.

"Whatever you say, Simon."

"What, you don’t believe me? Here, I’ll rewind-"

"Simon!" I laughed, grabbing the remote from his hand to stop him.

"So you’re admitting to it then?"

"I’m not admitting to anything!"

"Whatever, Paula, I know the truth," he smirked, winking at me.

I only raised an eyebrow in response.

He removed the tape from the VCR and held it up.

"Proof!" he said, smiling proudly.

"Where’d you get this anyway?" I asked, snatching it from his hand.

"I had someone ship it to me."

"Why?"

"To prove you wrong."

"You had this mailed to you for that sole purpose?"

"Well, that and to admire how handsome I look. You have to admit it, look at me darling. I’m dashing."

I laughed and ruffled his hair.

"Well, you do look dashing," I said, positive I was making his ego swell to mass proportions.

"But," I said in a stage whisper, "You still didn’t prove me wrong."