The Gift of Possibilities ~ The Fifth
Jail that Jellyroll of Trouble again. This is hers.
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada is neither mine nor CeeLyn's. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. We're just redecorating. When finished, we will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
.............................
The Fifth ~ Ruari’s
Step, step, step, step, step. Turn. Step, step, step, step, step. Turn. Back and forth. Back and forth.
It was Christmas Eve and Andy was nervous. Okay, Andy was petrified. She’d done something. A big something and she had absolutely no idea how Miranda would feel about it. Hence the pacing.
Step, step, step, step, step. Turn. Step, step, step, step, step. Turn.
On the second floor of the Priestly townhouse, a guestroom adjacent to Miranda’s study had been converted to an office for Andy. The two rooms were joined by a set of pocket doors in one wall that could be closed at any time if privacy were ever required. In the two years since the renovations had been completed, the doors had never been used. It was essentially a gateway between their two worlds. One was always soothed by the sounds of the other busy with their professional passions.
From where Andy paced in her office, she could see straight through to the exterior door of Miranda’s study. She anticipated her lover’s arrival any time in the next twenty minutes.
Step, step, step, step, step. Turn. Step, step, step, step, step. Turn.
In her hands, she clutched an advanced copy of The New Yorker. As one of the magazine’s regular columnists, she’d been given an early copy. The issue wasn’t actually due to hit newsstands for two days. A quick glance at her watch propelled Andy to action.
She passed through into Miranda’s study and placed the magazine on her lover’s desk, centered on the blotter where she couldn’t miss it if she tried. She then raced out, back through her office, out into the hallway and up the staircase to the third floor. She hovered on the landing when she heard the front door open. She followed her beloved’s progression using the auditory cues provided: the jangling of keys, the closet door opening and closing, the click-clack of heels on hardwood, the creek of stairs, the opening of another door. Minutes of silence passed as Andy strained her ears.
Then she heard the faint sound of pages turning. Andy’s knees turned to jelly.
*** *** ***
Miranda entered her office, fatigue lining her features as she crossed to her desk and sat down behind it. She moved to switch on her monitor and stopped short. Her brows rose. Well aware of the publishing schedule of her lover’s magazine, Miranda knew this was an advanced copy of The New Yorker sitting on her desk. She quickly donned her reading glasses and pulled it closer.
Anticipation filled her very being as she flipped to Andrea’s column…
A ‘Sach’ of This and That
“Gifting”
By Andy Sachs
December 25, 2012
“This”-
Have you ever struggled to find the “perfect” Christmas present? The one that would cement your affections in the heart and soul of your loved one forever? I have. I do. Every year like clockwork.
“This” is my problem. You see, I made one of the best and worst mistakes of my life when I presented to the love of my life (and you all know who I’m talking about) the greatest gift ever on the first Christmas we ever spent together. She loved it. Still does, as a matter of fact. The problem is that I’ll never top that one. I totally set myself up for annual failure after that. Now…she claims the gift I gave her on our third Christmas together was as good or better, but we both know she’s lying. She really, really adores that first one.
Miranda’s lips twitched as she suppressed a smile. Cheeky, cheeky girl. And Miranda was crazy about her.
So what’s a girl to do? On this-our fifth Christmas together? And keeping in mind the amazing gift she presented to me last year? Well, giving up is not an option, I assure you. I mean, really. Think of who I’m talking about here! So I find myself relying every year on one irrefutable truism. There is no point in giving material goods to a woman who can buy anything she wants.
So if I avoid material Christmas gifts, what’s left?
I have discovered that the quickest way to garner the greatest positive reaction is to touch her heart. And sometimes, if I’m very, very fortunate…
I’ll even touch her soul.
Miranda blinked furiously to clear the mist in her eyes.
“That”-
I was at a Knicks game with some friends of mine last week and was forced to bear witness to a truly awful and ridiculous spectacle. And I’m not talking about the game. There above us, splashed across the JumboTron, some idiot was proposing to his girlfriend. “That” absolutely floored me. Are you kidding me? Do guys really think that is romantic? Oh, the horror! The mortification!
Over the last few days, I’ve found myself wondering what would possess someone to take something so private, so sentimental, so personal and turn it into a publicly garish display. Did his buddy do the same thing earlier this year at a Mets game and he felt the need to compete? Was it a Double Dog Dare? Did his girlfriend piss him off on the way to the game?
So I asked around. As it turns out, there is this truly incomprehensible need to be “original” when proposing marriage to your intended. Is that really necessary? It seems to me the gift should not be in the “how it was done” but, rather, in the “fact that it was done.”
Now many of you are sitting there wondering how “This” and “That” are related. See, it occurs to me that the phenomenon which causes gift-giving woes is the same one causing those outrageously classless and ostentatious proposals. Very few people are willing to relinquish their independence and be completely subsumed by their loved one for the duration of time it takes to choose and bestow a gift or offer a marriage proposal.
Believe it or not, I do not struggle with this concept. It is what has allowed me to be moderately successful in touching her heart over the years. And sometimes, when I’m very, very fortunate…
even her soul.
“This and That”-
That all being said, I think I’ll combine “This” and “That” and hope to touch both this year.
Butterflies began swooping and swirling in Miranda’s stomach. She felt flushed, and her palms became damp.
What do you say, Miranda? This has gotta be better than JumboTron Boy’s. I’m good for another forty or fifty years if you are.
That’s all.
~~Andy Sachs
Andy observed her lover from the doorway. The older woman was obviously stunned. “I love you,” Andy stated quietly.
Miranda whipped her head around and took in the picture of her beloved, leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She cleared her throat before murmuring, “That wasn’t your usual style.”
Andy smiled. “No, it wasn’t,” she gently replied.
Still awed, Miranda struggled with her response. “It was very self-serving,” she dryly pointed out.
“Yep,” Andy agreed unapologetically. “Though I’d like to point out I also have an article in there. In addition to the column, I mean.”
“Oh.”
Andy’s smile grew to a grin. She’d touched something alright. It remained to be seen exactly what, however. “Yeah.” She pushed off the wall and approached. When she got to Miranda’s side, she dropped to her knees and held out a hand, palm up, the ring gleaming in the lamplight.
“So what do you say, Love of My Life?”
~R
The Sixth Christmas
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada is neither mine nor CeeLyn's. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. We're just redecorating. When finished, we will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
.............................
The Fifth ~ Ruari’s
Step, step, step, step, step. Turn. Step, step, step, step, step. Turn. Back and forth. Back and forth.
It was Christmas Eve and Andy was nervous. Okay, Andy was petrified. She’d done something. A big something and she had absolutely no idea how Miranda would feel about it. Hence the pacing.
Step, step, step, step, step. Turn. Step, step, step, step, step. Turn.
On the second floor of the Priestly townhouse, a guestroom adjacent to Miranda’s study had been converted to an office for Andy. The two rooms were joined by a set of pocket doors in one wall that could be closed at any time if privacy were ever required. In the two years since the renovations had been completed, the doors had never been used. It was essentially a gateway between their two worlds. One was always soothed by the sounds of the other busy with their professional passions.
From where Andy paced in her office, she could see straight through to the exterior door of Miranda’s study. She anticipated her lover’s arrival any time in the next twenty minutes.
Step, step, step, step, step. Turn. Step, step, step, step, step. Turn.
In her hands, she clutched an advanced copy of The New Yorker. As one of the magazine’s regular columnists, she’d been given an early copy. The issue wasn’t actually due to hit newsstands for two days. A quick glance at her watch propelled Andy to action.
She passed through into Miranda’s study and placed the magazine on her lover’s desk, centered on the blotter where she couldn’t miss it if she tried. She then raced out, back through her office, out into the hallway and up the staircase to the third floor. She hovered on the landing when she heard the front door open. She followed her beloved’s progression using the auditory cues provided: the jangling of keys, the closet door opening and closing, the click-clack of heels on hardwood, the creek of stairs, the opening of another door. Minutes of silence passed as Andy strained her ears.
Then she heard the faint sound of pages turning. Andy’s knees turned to jelly.
*** *** ***
Miranda entered her office, fatigue lining her features as she crossed to her desk and sat down behind it. She moved to switch on her monitor and stopped short. Her brows rose. Well aware of the publishing schedule of her lover’s magazine, Miranda knew this was an advanced copy of The New Yorker sitting on her desk. She quickly donned her reading glasses and pulled it closer.
Anticipation filled her very being as she flipped to Andrea’s column…
A ‘Sach’ of This and That
“Gifting”
By Andy Sachs
December 25, 2012
“This”-
Have you ever struggled to find the “perfect” Christmas present? The one that would cement your affections in the heart and soul of your loved one forever? I have. I do. Every year like clockwork.
“This” is my problem. You see, I made one of the best and worst mistakes of my life when I presented to the love of my life (and you all know who I’m talking about) the greatest gift ever on the first Christmas we ever spent together. She loved it. Still does, as a matter of fact. The problem is that I’ll never top that one. I totally set myself up for annual failure after that. Now…she claims the gift I gave her on our third Christmas together was as good or better, but we both know she’s lying. She really, really adores that first one.
Miranda’s lips twitched as she suppressed a smile. Cheeky, cheeky girl. And Miranda was crazy about her.
So what’s a girl to do? On this-our fifth Christmas together? And keeping in mind the amazing gift she presented to me last year? Well, giving up is not an option, I assure you. I mean, really. Think of who I’m talking about here! So I find myself relying every year on one irrefutable truism. There is no point in giving material goods to a woman who can buy anything she wants.
So if I avoid material Christmas gifts, what’s left?
I have discovered that the quickest way to garner the greatest positive reaction is to touch her heart. And sometimes, if I’m very, very fortunate…
I’ll even touch her soul.
Miranda blinked furiously to clear the mist in her eyes.
“That”-
I was at a Knicks game with some friends of mine last week and was forced to bear witness to a truly awful and ridiculous spectacle. And I’m not talking about the game. There above us, splashed across the JumboTron, some idiot was proposing to his girlfriend. “That” absolutely floored me. Are you kidding me? Do guys really think that is romantic? Oh, the horror! The mortification!
Over the last few days, I’ve found myself wondering what would possess someone to take something so private, so sentimental, so personal and turn it into a publicly garish display. Did his buddy do the same thing earlier this year at a Mets game and he felt the need to compete? Was it a Double Dog Dare? Did his girlfriend piss him off on the way to the game?
So I asked around. As it turns out, there is this truly incomprehensible need to be “original” when proposing marriage to your intended. Is that really necessary? It seems to me the gift should not be in the “how it was done” but, rather, in the “fact that it was done.”
Now many of you are sitting there wondering how “This” and “That” are related. See, it occurs to me that the phenomenon which causes gift-giving woes is the same one causing those outrageously classless and ostentatious proposals. Very few people are willing to relinquish their independence and be completely subsumed by their loved one for the duration of time it takes to choose and bestow a gift or offer a marriage proposal.
Believe it or not, I do not struggle with this concept. It is what has allowed me to be moderately successful in touching her heart over the years. And sometimes, when I’m very, very fortunate…
even her soul.
“This and That”-
That all being said, I think I’ll combine “This” and “That” and hope to touch both this year.
Butterflies began swooping and swirling in Miranda’s stomach. She felt flushed, and her palms became damp.
What do you say, Miranda? This has gotta be better than JumboTron Boy’s. I’m good for another forty or fifty years if you are.
That’s all.
~~Andy Sachs
Andy observed her lover from the doorway. The older woman was obviously stunned. “I love you,” Andy stated quietly.
Miranda whipped her head around and took in the picture of her beloved, leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She cleared her throat before murmuring, “That wasn’t your usual style.”
Andy smiled. “No, it wasn’t,” she gently replied.
Still awed, Miranda struggled with her response. “It was very self-serving,” she dryly pointed out.
“Yep,” Andy agreed unapologetically. “Though I’d like to point out I also have an article in there. In addition to the column, I mean.”
“Oh.”
Andy’s smile grew to a grin. She’d touched something alright. It remained to be seen exactly what, however. “Yeah.” She pushed off the wall and approached. When she got to Miranda’s side, she dropped to her knees and held out a hand, palm up, the ring gleaming in the lamplight.
“So what do you say, Love of My Life?”
~R
The Sixth Christmas