Home Sweet Home II

Given time, they say the home actually comes to reflect the owners themselves. Certainly makes sense since the owner would presumably lavish care and attention to the home according to their tastes and fancies.

You are where you live?


Felon with evil intention?
In the past I used to imagine that my home sweet home would probably be a lavish double-storey Moorish-style bungalow set in a quiet part of town. My recent lodgings in Netherfield - a reasonably close replica of my dream home, albeit a poorer, tackier version - has taught me otherwise. Even now I find myself fearful that the lavish exteriors - and the shockingly extensive grounds - would tempt wicked felons to pay a visit.

With nefarious intentions.

Paul : Damn. I am far too paranoid to stay in such a place.
My ISO : Get a damned apartment already.
Paul : Like yours? If only! Don't think they have double-storey duplexes here.
My ISO : A tiny duplex mind you, especially compared to the monstrous house you have there!
Paul : Even the security there wouldn't offer any solace.
My ISO : Good God.
Paul : I need traps. And alarms. And electrified fences. And guard dogs.
My ISO : And a deep moat filled with starving crocodiles?
Paul : Maybe a couple of piranhas?

Security is obviously everything to me.

Not forgetting the secret tunnels and passageways that would connect various rooms - for the rare occasion that I would need to make a quick escape. With all the enemies I've inadvertently made, who knows when I might need it!

Takes Two to Tango

Society soirees and shopping sprees, petticoats and pantaloons, dandies and duellists, maidens and matchmakers.

As a wee schoolboy in blue shorts, I found myself drawn to the fanciful flights of fancy woven by the talented likes of Austen and Heyer, both renowned queens of Regency fiction in their own right. Back then of course I didn't realize that my innocent boyhood crush over the stern arrogant Mr Darcy would possibly be a portent of my budding homosexuality. Certainly helped inspire me to compose shockingly sentimental prose detailing sweet romances with schmaltzy happy endings that inevitably earned me the unwelcome sobriquet of the class Austen.

Certainly a dangerous compliment in an all boys school. However I was quite the sly fellow and gainfully employed my writing skills in helping my near illiterate fellow classmates woo their largely unappreciative inamoratas. Yup, the original Cyrano.

Though I swooned over the dashing heroes - always so stolid and silent - I never did understand some of the silly scrapes the heroines seem to tumble into. For instance, I always found it improbable - since I'm the original material boy, oh so practical - that the blushing debutantes would allow themselves to be swept away by the penniless music teacher.


Dancing scruffy cheek to scruffy cheek?
Or even the dancing instructor.

I was wrong obviously. Rather than being an outdated convention relegated only to Regency romances, it seems that youthful debutantes - and some of the far less youthful ones - still find themselves falling head-over-feet for their dashing dancing instructors.

Which Harry Huevos easily corroborated.

Harry : Oh definitely, there are affairs going on all the time.
Paul : Seriously? They all look so stolid, so serious about the dance.
Harry : Well that's only when people are looking.
Paul : Ooh naughty.
Harry : Between teacher and student. Between teachers themselves.
Paul : Ooh, scandalous. Tell me more.
Harry : A man and a woman with all those hours spent together in a torrid embrace, so very romantic, so very intimate. What would you expect?
Paul : Ooh la la, is that a come-on?
Harry : Madre dios! No!

Replace the hunky gardener on Wisteria Lane with a dancing instructor instead.

From what he told me, the dance studio could seriously be the heady setting for our very own Desperate Housewives. Seems like everyone's getting adulterous with each other behind closed doors, along with the prerequisite crazy breakups full of screaming spouses and broken windows.

Since everyone else had pretty much gotten involved, the devil in me couldn't help asking Harry Huevos when we were about to hook-up as well. After all - said I innocently - we could always try the queer tango one day?

All I can say is... the horrified expression on his face?

Priceless.

The Devil In Me

Forbidden fruit always tastes so good.

Even when you have no intention of ever, ever taking a bite.

Remember Harry Huevos and his heady homophobia? Since I've known him, I don't entirely believe it but my friends insist that it's hidden there in his nuanced subtext. Nuance? Subtext? Hard to believe since Harry's generally a simple, easygoing fellow; doubt he actually imbues his words with that much significance.

Getting curiouser and curiouser.

Reasonable right-minded folks would tell us to leave him well enough alone. But then I've never been all that reasonable. Never been all that right in mind obviously. And like any born troublemaker, I love poking around repeatedly just to see what kinda reaction I can get. :)


So? Are you really homophobic?

Since Piratin Patty, as his recently anointed girlfriend, has first dibs on him, I knew I had to tell her of my cruel intentions.

Paul : You sure Harry is homophobic?
Patty : Gay boys freak him out.
Paul : To test that theory, can I poke around Harry just to get a homophobic rise out of him?
Patty : Eh, why not? Would keep things interesting here.
Paul : I might pinch his ass for fun.
Patty : You gotta buy me lunch then.
Paul : Pimping the boyfriend?
Patty : Gotta be at least worth chicken rice.
Paul : Come save me if he beats me up, yeah?
Patty : Rescue costs extra. The lunch had better come with dessert.
Paul : Maybe we should send Felix to test the waters instead.

Easy enough to come up with a plan since when Harry's not squiring Patty around the town, he actually partners up with me for dancing. Coincidentally he's my teacher as well. Maybe an intimate dance at close quarters like the argentine tango?

Poor Harry Huevos probably won't see it coming.

The Theory of Evolution

I don't actually think people change.

Don't believe all those betrayed spouses who wail that the person they married has changed. Led astray by rose-tinted glasses, they probably didn't look hard enough.

Short of something wildly improbable such as a corrective lobotomy or a religious epiphany the likes of the road to Damascus, people generally remain the same throughout their lives. Perhaps with a reasonable bit of tweaks here and there, all thanks to a little something I'd like to call evolution.

Yeah, we evolve as we grow older. Our true selves don't really change all that much but we do learn to mask our less... appealing qualities in more palatable ways. For lack of a better expression, we actually evolve to conform to societal expectations. Obviously the recalcitrant few who don't end up as reluctant inmates in our prisons and asylums for a time.


Slowly, we learn to suppress our less socially acceptable instincts...
As we grow older, even I have learnt to hide my crazier impulses to present a more acceptable image - lest I be judged as a psychotic micromanaging control freak. Despite the fact that I'd love to make decisions for everyone I know - and even some I don't, I've learnt to suppress those megalomaniacal fantasies.

Well enough that some are even fooled by it.

Paul : Well I love babies before they reach 2 years of age!
Friend : But why!
Paul : They start forming opinions of their own.
Friend : Does that mean u don't like opinions, hence you are a control freak?
Paul : Of course I am a control freak.
Friend : Really? You don't seem like one!
Paul : I am so a control freak.
Calvin : Albeit a subtle one.

And just the other day I had a friend who was shocked when I revealed my utter annoyance over the motherfricking slow drivers here. Thought it was pretty obvious that I'd love to run over the entire phlegmatic lot with a deadly steamroller. And then shift to reverse to properly finish the homicidal job.

But as it turns out my recently acquired chill zen act has everyone hoodwinked.

People don't really change but yes, we do evolve.

Boobs & Balls

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.

Surely not a difficult concept to grasp since it's quite obvious - despite rabid feminists staunchly insisting we're all the same - that men and women are significantly different! And why would we want to be any other way?

Case in point the nurses I work with - who just happen to be an all-female crew by the way. Since I'd prefer a little more parity in the workplace, I've actually made a petition for male nurses. Preferably a sexy strapping nurse with a fetish for being strapped down and spanked. But I digress.

Back to my nurses. When you work in an overwhelmingly female environment, you tend to pick up a few things, especially the behaviour of girls when they all get together. Pairing up to visit the bathroom, I think everyone already knows this. Even sharing the tiny changing rooms we have, I can accept.


Close encounters of the male kind?
But what I find odd is how ... forward they can get with each other. Curiously enough the nurses actually spend their break time comparing bra sizes. I kid you not. Reminiscent of the naughtiest wet dream fantasy of every pimpled adolescent schoolboy, these pretty young nurses take some time off from regular ward work to poke, prod and palpate each other's breasts.

Apparently for no particular reason. Just because.

And they make shockingly brazen comments on size, shape and structure.

Despite what you may erroneously think, these girls are all reasonably straight. Some even happily married with a passel of kids. Hardly any Sapphic thought whatsoever.

Obviously this easily boils down to the difference between the sexes since seriously, the mind boggles over such a similarly compromising situation occurring between a couple of straight fellas.

Joe : Whoa, man. Looks like you have hefty piece there.
Jack : Oh yeah? Why not give it a feel?
Joe : Like this? Mind if I squeeze it a little?
Jack : Go ahead. Yeah, that feels good.
Joe : Nice balls too man. Low hangers.
Jack : Born lucky that way.
Joe : I've always wanted balls like that. Looks so good in briefs!
Jack : Certainly does. Though I wouldn't say no to a perky bubble-butt like yours!

Oh yeah straight guys don't talk like that in the locker room. Not unless it's a raunchy prelude for a B-grade gay porn.

Somehow guys are brought up to be just a little bit more guarded when it comes to their personal space. Even more so when it deals with the more private areas. Infringement on said nether regions would probably result in a violent altercation. If Joe had dared approach anywhere near inappropriate, wild alarm bells would have started signalling in Jack's primitive male brain. Close encounters of the male kind would trigger the dangerous primal fear every straight man has of the predatory homosexual.

Obviously boys don't touch each other in Mars.

Sue to the Rescue

Turns out, just like a bad penny, Scatter-brained Sibyl makes an unwelcome appearance in my life again.

Scatter-brained Sibyl, as some of you might know, would be the far-flung relation with the singular misfortune of having an indefatigable matchmaking mother.

Perhaps I shouldn't blame poor innocent Sibyl entirely - as she is most likely blissfully unaware of her tenacious mother's Machiavellian machinations. Despite facing dozens of crucial setbacks, the formidable matron remains undaunted in her ultimate goal of marrying me off to her eligible debutante of a daughter. Nearly incoherent in her single-minded intent to march us both to the altar, I truly doubt our wishes matter to her in the slightest.

At least I hope Sibyl is an unwitting participant in her sainted mama's schemes - since otherwise I really might have to knock some sense into her.


No worries, fellows. Things haven't gotten that drastic yet.

Or at the very least my sister-in-law Sassy Sue would probably offer to do it in my stead.

Seems that my recent transfer miles away from Sibyl - thereby reducing her chances of marriage - has clearly driven her increasingly desperate Mama off the bend. Apparently in a last ditch attempt to have us forcibly married off, Sibyl's Mama has been haunting Sue's door. And her cellphone. And her e-mail. And her facebook account. Stalker much?

Relentless, that Sibyl's Mama.

Sue : Guess what, Sibyl's Mama called to harass me again.
Paul : Good God. Does that woman never give up?
Sue : Get her off my back already!
Paul : Tell her I fell for a native warrior princess, married her and moved to the deepest jungles!
Sue : I wouldn't believe that myself!
Paul : Tell her I am gay dammit.
Sue : I tried that! She doesn't believe me.
Paul : You told her?
Sue : Well she doesn't believe me anyway! She keeps wailing about how I'm thwarting Sibyl's chances of marriage.
Paul : If she means with me, the chances are zero.

Seriously. If the gay defence doesn't work?

Return of the Sims

Guess you can call the game of Sims a largely harmless escapist fantasy. Gives all of us an avenue to escape from the dull humdrum of our everyday existence. Ever dream of being a courageous firefighter? Ever dream of being the perfect 1950s housewife?

Or in my case, dreams of being a sociopathic passive-aggressive homewrecker Casanova.

Turns out it has been more than a year since I last played the game! So what better way to celebrate my purchase of a spanking new iPad than downloading one of my favourite micromanagement games. Unfortunately not fully developed in HD yet - get on it already developers!

Still gives me a chance to live out my fantasy though.


Waitaminute, did I woo hoo with this strapping fellow already? I really need to start keeping track.
Think Wisteria Lane. A typical conversation with my Sim character that happens in my games translated from babbling Simlish of course.

Jill : How dare you come into my house again, you creep!
Paul : To use your well-appointed bath of course. Your husband so loves that lovely musky scent that you bought. On me.
Jill : How dare you! He's my husband!
Paul : Highly closeted. Couldn't keep his hands off me. Why, we've even done it in your bedroom.
Jill : You did the woo hoo with my husband?!
Paul : Yes. Leave him already!
Jill : No, I won't!
Paul : Then take this slap from me!
Jill : Ouch!
Paul : And another slap!
Jill : Ouch.
Paul : Dammit. Why can't I stab you with the knife?
Jill : It's not a violent game!
Paul : Eh, since I'm already holding the knife, I'm going to raid your fridge and cook a meal.
Jill : Get out of my house now!
Paul : Kicking me out won't stop me from coming back now that your husband's my partner.
Oh yes, my shockingly attractive though morally ambiguous lab assistant has been having a torrid affair with Jack, that sexy silver-haired fox of a politician. Obviously much to the dismay of his long-suffering dutiful wife Jill - who gets regular physical abuse in the form of daily slaps from me.

Just because.

If that's not soap opera enough, I'm also having a daily woo hoo visits from my hunky blond colleague Johnny. And Jake. And Walter. Yes, I am playing quite a reprehensible character, I know.


Yup, plenty of the above going on. As if you needed another reason to love the game, the developers have always shown their unwavering wholehearted support for alternative sexualities. Not only can gay men get married, they can adopt and have children.

And obviously have plenty of woo hoo.

BTW did I mention Facebook is beta-testing Sims right now? :)

Unexpectedly Emo

Usually make fun of my friends - and Charming Calvin - when they spend their evenings singing karaoke to the weepiest sob songs ever made. Weep, whine and whimper wails - tearful tragedies full of breakups and breakdowns with the hapless protagonist inevitably ending up weeping alone in a dark solitary corner. All By Myself much?

Who knew I'd be fooled into liking an unexpectedly emo song as well!
Well, certain songs you just can't get out of your head - and for the past week I've actually had this playing in mine.


Pretty Korean boys dancing and bopping all over the stage to a catchy tune? Surely not a maudlin love ballad! Or at least that's what I thought when I casually mentioned it to Bibimbap Ben.

Paul : Starting to like the song. Have it on constant replay in my head!
Ben : Seriously? And you're always so anti weepy sentimental songs!
Paul : Weepy? It's a damned fast track with an annoyingly catchy beat! Surely it's not some mushy emotional number.
Ben : That's what you think. Go check out the lyrics.
Paul : Really? They don't look all that sad in the video! Well maybe the last scene.
Ben : It's super mushy.

Didn't take me long to find it. Short of having a sleeping dictionary the likes of Choi Siwon by my side, I doubt I'd understand Korean anytime soon! Fortunately rabid fans of Super Junior - who understand the language - are everywhere online ready to please. In fact there were several to choose from with pages dedicated to dissecting each and every verse of their lyrics.


You're calling me?
And boy, talk about emotional. Let me give you a brief snippet.

Oh whatever anyone anyone says, it doesn’t matter to me
Oh whoever whoever curses me, I’ll only look at you
Even when I’m born again, it’s still only you
Even as time goes by

Oh when you tell me you love me
When you tell me thousands and millions of times
Even when my heart sets on fire, my dry lips wear out
Even when I’m born again, it’s still only you

Good grief!

Super sentimental schmaltzy much :) Even reading the effusive verses gives me goose-bumps! No wonder Ben found it amazing that I loved the song!

Off the Written Page

True bibliophiles would turn up their noses at ebooks.

At least that's what I used to think. Never believed ebooks are the 21st century successor to print. They couldn't possibly kill off our old paperbacks, could they?

After all, despite how much digital books are touted as the next generation of reading material, they simply don't lend the same feel as a nice old paperback. The delicious tactile sensation of crinkly paper often with minute silverfish indents in them, the faint scent of the printed page bearing reminders of where it's been, the little tears and smudges from all the *ahem* accidents it's been through.

How could anyone possibly not miss the entire reading experience that comes only from a book made of fallen trees?

And let's not get into how pretty an entire row of gilt-edged hardcovers can look on wooden shelves. Some might look at messy stacks of dusty paperbacks as insane clutter but I find them aesthetically pleasing. Hence my bad habit of dropping books in every corner of my home.


Not to mention witty fellows with books are a major turn-on for me.
One personal thing I've learnt about ebooks is how easily you can ignore them. Unlike the printed page, ebooks don't lie around looking forlorn waiting to be picked up again. Even a half-read book sits there as a physical reminder taunting you about to finish what you started. Ebooks? Well, I've already got quite a stack waiting for me on my reader and I have barely cracked the digital pages open as yet.

Still I do count myself recently converted to an ebook reader. Well, at least partially.

Trust me when I say this but it really lightens my load. As any true bibliophile would agree, carrying ten paperbacks in a single backpack is no joke. Since it's nearly impossible to choose only one book to read during an extended trip, I tend to pick a few of the best only to realize much later that all those added pages actually weigh a ton. Don't forget adding to the weight when I inevitably purchase more!

So being able to cart around a library easily, that's a major plus point for me.

Don't think that's gonna make printed pages disappear though. Not with the prohibitive prices tagged on the ebooks. Despite barely having any costs whatsoever when it comes to printing and distribution, digital copies cost quite as much.

Damn. Guess it's back to chopping trees.

Pink Mafia

If you think Malaysia is wildly intolerant of homosexuals, I wouldn't blame you.

With an infamous politician being relentlessly persecuted over an alleged sodomy charge, you're probably thinking this country's stuck way back in much less enlightened times - where the love that dare not speak its name would mean hard labour, hard fare and a hard bed.

While the draconian penal code still holds to such Victorian prudery, you'll find gay men literally gaily walking the streets these days quite unencumbered by any hint of intolerance. Well, almost none. Still got a way to go before we hold our first gay parade but violent gay-bashing on the streets isn't exactly the norm.

In fact, and this surprised me, we actually have quite a number of influential men in the halls of power indulging in just such a crime. Buggery, that is. At least that's what has been claimed by an article leaked by the United States embassy.


Minister : Wonder how I should misuse my powers tomorrow.
Basically it just mentions that a recent cabinet minister, senior staff associated with the prime minister and other prominent citizens linked to the government have been participating in 'non-heterosexual behavour'.

Think Pink Mafia.

Much too soon to clap and cheer though since it's quite obvious that the two-faced fellows up there in the office aren't interested in lending a hand to any of their struggling gay brethren. Wouldn't be surprised to find a couple so deep into their bigoted closets that they would refuse to be named as such. Hence the ludicrous 'non-heterosexual behaviour' mentioned above.

So don't expect any homophobic legislation being overturned anytime soon. The self-serving government homos are far too involved with scrabbling up the slimy political ladder to bother about unpopular issues such as the fledgling gay rights movement here.

Still, it makes an interesting sidenote, don't you think? Certainly makes you wonder just how the boys from the United States received that juicy bit of information! Gay spies anyone?

The Age of Consent

As children, we depend on our parents to tell us what's right for us. With very little room for discussion and even less for any independent thought, our parents act as literal despots who tell us what to wear, what to eat, when to sleep etc.

Which is perfectly reasonable since as snot-nosed kids, we actually don't know all that much about the world in the first place.

Once we're grown up however, things start to change as we cast aside the shackles of presumptuous parenting to embrace independence. As adults, we make our own decisions, poorly made or otherwise, with little interference from others.

Or at least some of us do.

Paul : Wait. Who signed the consent? That's not the name of the patient.
Nurse : Oh. Her husband signed the consent for her.
Paul : For a surgery? Is she incapacitated in some manner that she can't possibly scratch her signature on the consent form?
Nurse : Umm... no? But she asked her husband to sign it for her.
Paul : Odd. How sure is she that her husband didn't sign her up for a lobotomy? Or perhaps a nephrectomy?
Nurse : Hee hee.
Paul : Check the consent again. It might be for removal of wife.
Nurse : Hee hee.

Obviously some people indeed do prefer to have their rights taken away from them.


Colleague : The husband signed off the consent for a lobotomy?
Paul : Yeah, looks like she doesn't need a brain anymore.
Colleague : Stepford Wife.
In an act that would astonish enraged bra-burning feminists everywhere, this woman - no doubt brought up in far less enlightened times - allowed herself to be treated as mindless chattel subservient to her supposedly mentally superior husband.

Just surprised she actually allowed herself to be thus infringed upon! Having something as personal as a surgical procedure carried out on oneself without participating in it? Just lucky her husband didn't barter her off for illegal organ harvesting.

Then again, what can one expect from a nation that championed the ludicrous Obedient Wives' Club.

Their Season of Lent

I've never been all that religious.

The occasional prayer here and there. The rare and irregular attendance at mass. The brief twinge of conscience so I don't maim or dismember the odd member of society. Hardly the exemplary Christian boy.

Still I've always held religion to be something deeply personal. Never felt the need to share nor involve anyone else in whatever heathenish practices I might have. Pray when I must. Worship when I want. Fast when I like. Certainly don't need any morally upright do-gooders to police my behaviour, inappropriate or otherwise.


Paul : Dang. Is someone watching me eat?
So you can imagine how much it pisses me off when such desultory comments get passed during lunchtime.

Colleague : Eh, you're not fasting?
Paul : Does it look like I am?
Colleague : But it's the fasting month!
Paul : Maybe some folks might be fasting but why should I? Why should it affect me?
Colleague : Some of our friends are joining us in solidarity by fasting with us.
Paul : They can do so. Good for them. I'm going for a buffet.

Seriously. Fasting? Just because you do so doesn't mean everyone else has to do so. Doesn't mean everyone should stop eating just because you did. Doesn't mean every restaurant has to be shut down to reduce the temptation for you. Doesn't mean everyone has to edify the sanctity of the month because you do so.

Doesn't mean the world keels to a screeching halt because you said so.


And then they start running insulting public service advertisements like these that advocate a certain type of speech, behaviour and dressing deemed acceptable to them.

Do not impose your beliefs on others. Just remember it's your religion and not ours. Follow my main adage. What you do should affect no one but yourself. Go ahead and fast. Just don't expect me to do it.

Frailty Level

Man-watching.

Easily one of my favourite past-times - shared by many of my gay brethren - though one that I've had to curtail recently since it's seriously slim pickings here. These days I've come to the conclusion that the better-looking specimens have all been shipped abroad leaving the disheveled country yokels behind.

I know! I'm so judgemental! But let's all agree that city boys are far more polished in appearance. Despite having their own curious appeal, grungy McShaggys with their unkempt hair and sloppy dressing simply don't do it for me.

Every once in a while though Fabulous Felix and I manage to catch a gem. Or two.

Felix : OMG Come and see. The boy is cute.
Paul : Is this your usual twinky cute?
Felix : Oh yes! So cute!
Paul : Way below my frailty level?
Felix : Possibly.
Paul : Powerful gust of wind could blow him away?
Felix : Definitely.
Paul : I'll pass.

Of course our tastes differ when it comes to men. Separated by an unwavering line we like calling the frailty level.


Below frailty level?
Adhering to popular opinion of late, Fabulous Felix prefers his boys really frail. Practically manorexic. Reed-thin enough that a stiff breeze would prove fatal. Squeeze them too hard and they just might shatter into a thousand low-fat pieces.

Boggles my mind. Don't we love men because they are tough? Don't we love the idea of slamming them hard against a dingy wall to ravish them thoroughly?

Or is it just me?

Instant Romance

How long does it take to fall in love?

Simple almost instantaneous answer for Fabulous Felix and his rambunctious hormones since he'd say a thousand times yes in less than a heartbeat. Falling in love comes so easy for some.

Not for me though. Like I said before, mine would be a more measured response in comparison. Lust at first sight perhaps but definitely not love. That comes much, much later for me.

Age and maturity? Fear and caution? Who knows.


Patty : OMG I have got to be dreaming!
Harry : A dream! We are in love and married!
Patty : After three fucking weeks? And in this poufy white gown?!
Perhaps a combination of many factors since Pirating Patty totally agrees. Dating one too many tall, dark and shaggys over here, she hasn't found a prince charming to love yet. But as it turns out Patty really doesn't have all that long to think about an answer since her new beau Harry Huevos has already made up his mind.

About el amor of course.

Harry : I love you, querida!
Patty : I'm still at the word like.
Harry : Surely you share my deep feelings for you, mi amor. You're my light, my soul, my reason for living.
Patty : It has only been a month.
Harry : Every day with you is like a lifetime. And I would want a dozen lifetimes more with you.
Patty : Let's go on a few more dates, okay?
Harry : You won't say you love me?
Patty : It has only been a month.
Harry : Sigh. Mine is a sad lot to love a beauty like you. Por el amor de una rosa, el jardinero es servidor de mil espinas.

It hasn't even been a month yet. Three weeks tops.

Seems hotheaded latin lovers find it quite as easy to fall in love as well. Almost at the drop of a hat! For a fellow who takes things slow, Harry has some pretty fast moves when it comes to relationships and the dizzying speed is causing Patty to get just a tad out of breath. Sometimes not in a good way.

We predict at least a marriage proposal ( complete with moonlight and a serenading mariachi band ) before the month is through. A wedding in spring?