When I sprinted downstairs yesterday afternoon to grab the nearly-full box of Puffs out of my car, to replace the one on my desk which had just bitten the dust, well, I should have had my camera with me. Because the left-hand column of cars was neatly sorted by color: pearl, black, white, [concrete pillar] silver, white, white, [concrete pillar] silver, silver, silver, [concrete pillar] white, white, white, [concrete pillar] red, white, white. A special convocation of the OCD Parking Club?
Yes, I am just that easily amused.
I had all sorts of random thoughts bouncing around inside my brain-pain on the drive to work yesterday. By the time I got there, I had pretty well worked myself into “keep your dadgum ladder” mode. You know the story: man decides to borrow a ladder from his neighbor, and on the way he pictures how the conversation will go, escalating from polite inquiry to foaming at the mouth, and when he bangs on the neighbor’s door and the neighbor answers, he hollers, “Oh yeah? Well you can keep your dadgum ladder!” and turns on his heel and goes home.
I was thinking, rather more rationally, about the expectations we all bring to a new relationship. What do I want? Pretty much the quiet life I have now, with someone across the table three meals a day, and marital relations at age-appropriate intervals. What does he want? Not entirely sure, but I intend to find out. I spent twenty years being the good wife, pretzelizing myself in an attempt to be supportive.
No mas. I have opinions. I intend to share them, seasoned liberally with kindness.
I shared a few with him last night via email. He responded. We start talking, in depth, at lunch on Saturday. I would feel a whole lot more enthusiastic were it not for the fact that apparently the song of the ragweed is now being heard, chez Ravelled. I haven’t found any data online to back this up, but one of my coworkers went home sick yesterday afternoon, and my head has that familiar, quick-set concrete, feeling. Thankfully, there is Mucinex in my bag, and I’m hoping that takes care of it.
You might want to buy stock in Puffs (Proctor & Gamble). I can probably single-handedly turn the stock market around in the next six weeks or so.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!