Le sigh.. I’m feeling very french today.
I’m sipping tea sweetened with some local honey, and bemoaning how much I miss my beloved. I have this overwhelming urge to read some Hemingway during his Paris period, where he talked about how metallic the raw oysters were as they slid down his throat..
Last night, I came home to find Bryan waiting for me. It’s the flip side of what we’ve been accustomed to. I still hate it. I’m ready for us both to do nothing, or at least be involved on the same project. I just miss him.
We had a date night last night. It was awesome. Every time that we slide into a Waffle House booth, I get those nervous butterflies. He’ll reach across the table and touch my hand, and I can remember how I thought I was gonna die the first time it happened. And he’ll always pretend that I didn’t just catch him staring at my cleavage. Ah, romance.
So, I’ll admit it: I’m having your usual cold-feet issues. Not really that I’m contemplating getting married, but like I suddenly want to throw all of these last-minute rules in. Bryan and I were lying in bed the other night, and I couldn’t help it.. it just came out.. “Bryan, when we’re married, I don’t want some youngin groping all over you at a cast party. Understand?” Bless his heart.. he just said okay and didn’t bother to ask.
I can’t help it; I’ve worked in contracts and legalities long enough to know the value of the stated word. That when you make a vow, or a promise, or a contract, you’re bound to that. And unless it has some caveat like, “and all else that entails” or “unless Sarah deems otherwise”, you can’t hold anyone to things that weren’t promised.
In light of this revelation, I’m throwing tons of qualifications in, last-minute. Most of them I gather throughout my travels, whenever I see something that I don’t want to happen in my marriage. Things like, “Please don’t ever make me get up from dinner to cut you up an onion” and “Please don’t ever start squirreling away money so you can buy a dirtbike” and other random, trivial things. They’re trivial NOW, oh yes, but twenty years from now.. won’t I be glad that I made him promise to never dye his hair?
So, this morning, I curled up to him while he still slept. This is my FAVORITE time of day.. there is still the warm smell of sleep, and his breathing is so rhythmic, and I always lay my hand on his heart and listen. I did that today, and saw it.. A GIGANTIC, BLACK, HAIR CURLED UP ON HIS NOSE.
I cannot marry a man who grows gigantic black hairs on his nose.
I calmed myself down. Maybe it’s a stray chest hair that wandered, I thought. So I started gently blowing on his nose, to see if I could blow it off. This, in turn, freaked asleep-Bryan out and he started almost sneezing. So I stopped and looked at him blankly, so if he woke up, he wouldn’t know I knew anything. Then I tried to carefully pick the offending hair off, but I couldn’t get close enough without scraping his skin. OHMYGOD, I thought, I CAN’T MARRY THIS MAN.
Then he woke up, and I saw his eyes. Those big ole blue eyes. And he smiled at me. And through his sleep, he whispered, “Hey, gorgeous,” and I realized how incredibly stupid I am. The hair, of course, was NOT growing out of his nose, but was in fact some hair that had found its way there.
I am a very lucky gal. And I’m italian, so I can’t be bothered by hair.
Le fin.
