It's a lazy Sunday morning and The Banker and I are lounging on his comfy living room couch, watching TV. Not bothered to get fully dressed, we are eating cereal in nothing but our underwear and flipping channels between Sunday morning cartoons on Nickelodeon and "I Shouldn't Be Alive" on Discovery. Our feet are stretched out on his coffee table (my mom never let me put my feet up on the coffee table at my parents' house, so I always take special pleasure when I get the opportunity to defy this childhood rule). He's checking the market on the Blackberry that's attached to his hip at all times and planning his next trade moves. I am not checking my phone at all, because in my line of work there is nothing important enough to deserve a Sunday morning reply.
This is as close to domestic bliss as it gets for me. For the first time after my post Mr J-dating, I am beginning to fully realize how damn lucky I am to have this guy. I couldn't possibly ask for anything more of him because he is as perfect as they come.
I've always been a firm believer that there is something there when I meet a guy who makes me want to be a better person. Well, The Banker makes me want to be the best person I can possibly be.