Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Mushy Stuff
Last month, I read Moreena's exigesis of her love for her husband and thought "I oughta write something like that", but it just sat there, at the top of my "to write" list, until I read this dating disclaimer from Profgrrrrl, at which point something clicked.

Here's the scene: Christie and I are down in Louisiana, her visiting her folks, me meeting them for the first time. Not only was I meeting her parents, but this was a 4-day out of town trip, which would make it the longest continuous stretch of time we'd spent in one another's presence. Also, our first plane flight together, which is no big deal for me, but Christie doesn't like to fly, nor does she like to show vulnerability, so it was sort of a big deal for her. The four of us are just returning to the house after, well, some thing or another. Might have been dinner, might have been a trip into New Orleans, might have been a trip to Wal-Mart. Could have been anything.

Anway, between the driveway and the front door, Christie's mom says, "Well, Mike, I'm glad to hear you can carry a tune. None of us can, and it'll do the bloodline good."

A little curtain opens in my head, and it's not about the implications Mary just made about our reproductive intentions. I was whistling. And I just skipped up the front steps.

This was at a time in my life when I spent an annoying amount of time Hamletting around the house, bemoaning, well, whatever, and dithering about my future. What did it mean? where was I going? Would I ever be happy again? And here I was, whistling and skipping. It would seem that, when I wasn't messing things up by thinking about it, I was actually happy. Huh.

And that was the beginning of my figuring out, from the outside in, of course, that I was in love with Christie.

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