Saint Dirty Face™ After Dark

Do Not Disturb. We’re Trying to Remember Each Other.

At twenty-five, you worried about whether the neighbors could hear you.

Twenty years later, you worry about whether somebody will knock and ask where the printer paper is.

Desire gets some strange working conditions.

You can spend an entire day handling problems, answering messages, remembering appointments, and being the person who knows which drawer contains the batteries. Then your partner gives you that look.

You know the look.

You still like the look.

Unfortunately, your brain has fourteen tabs open, three overdue notices, and a smoke detector chirping somewhere in the background.

“Come here,” they say.

“I’m coming. Mentally, I’m still on hold with the insurance company.”

There’s something absurd about sharing a home with the person you want and having to arrange a temporary evacuation of your own responsibilities to enjoy them.

But there’s tenderness in figuring it out together.

One of you locks the door. The other puts both phones somewhere inconvenient. You sit close enough to remember that this person has a smell you love. They say something filthy under their breath, and you laugh harder than the joke deserves because, for once, nobody needs an answer.

You get to be a little useless together.

The laundry can spend another evening developing its personality on the chair.

Maybe the night gets spicy. Maybe you kiss for a while and fall asleep with a hand somewhere familiar. Neither of you has to turn the evening into a performance review.

Still, give yourselves a chance.

A closed door. A little privacy. Enough quiet to hear an invitation.

And if somebody knocks to ask about printer paper?

They can discover a drawer. It’ll build character.

— Saint Dirty Face™

Stay Dirty. Stay Wicked. Stay Wanting.

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