My Young Husband and I had another one of those exchanges the other night, one of those times when I realized yet again that I somehow lucked into meeting a man for whom my weird quirks are mostly amusing, sometimes irritating, but always all right with him on some level, even if he occasionally wants to take a whiffle bat to my strange inconsistencies.
We were watching a movie on DVD, when suddenly I remembered something I wanted to show him online. So I leapt up, grabbed the laptop and navigated to the thing, which he found to be mildly gratifying.
MYH: Um…can I ask you something?
Me: Yeah.
MYH: Why do you never want to look at things online that I want to show you?
Me: Um. Well, because I’m busy.
MYH: Busy.
Me: Yeah, like I’m in the middle of doing something when you want to show me stuff.
MYH: Sort of like I am right now.
Me: Oh. Uh…yeah. But not really because it’s a DVD and we can pause it.
MYH: Uh huh.
Me: (ingratiating grin) Uh…sorry?
See? And he laughs at me, instead of getting all bunged up. Utterly weird and wonderful, and a more optimistic view than I am used to having of late, but I do believe that I must face facts: I have married the right guy. I don’t say everyone’s right guy, but for me, the particular combination of us seems to work. His shit doesn’t noid me out, and my shit doesn’t noid him - whiffle bat notwithstanding.
I wonder why they don’t tell you this when you’re younger? That what you’re looking for, really, is just someone who matches up with your shit. They don’t have to be ideal, they don’t have to check out on a list of perfect qualities, they don’t have to be anything except a good shit fit - just like Cinderella and her shit-fitting shoe.
How romantic.
Filed under: 'Til Death
I LOVE BEING MARRIED TO YOU!!!! Thank you for being in my life. Thank you for marrying me!
See? Ain’t we disgustingly happy? Dees-guss-teeng. I tell ya, if I didn’t know me, I’d just about launch my Quaker oatmeal.