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The Fella and I sit watching “Community.” Vaughn breaks into his Annie’s Song*.
The Fella: Didn’t Barry Manilow actually have an “Annie’s Song”?
Elsa: Wasn’t it John Denver?
TF: Oh, sure!
E: But I don’t know how it goes.
TF: I think it’s the “you fill up…” [He trails off, obviously reluctant to give us both the earworm.]
E: Ah. “Like a thing in a thingee.”
TF: Yup.
E: Like a blank in a blanket.
TF: Uh-huh.
E: Like a frog in a bucket.
TF: Exactly.
*which is nowhere to be found online, so here’s Troy and Abed mimicking Jeff.
[salty language alert!]
Elsa: I’m pretty sure some dumb f*ckers on the internet just ruined the next episode of “Mad Men” for me.
The Fella: Did you go to dumbf*ckruiners.com, baby?
Elsa: … yeeeeeah, that’s on me.
The Fella: Yeah, you should really delete that bookmark.
[The Fella enters the room to see me scowling at the computer screen.]
The Fella: Whatcha watchin’?
Elsa: I’m watching… [looks more closely] a turtle… plaaaaaying… with a shoe.
TF: Oh, the turtle humping the shoe. Sure.
E: I don’t know if he’s humping it. He’s rubbing against it with the center of his shell, but that’s not where turtle genitals are.
[The video cuts to a close-up of the turtle's genitals moving vigorously as it humps]
E: Oh. Ew! [clicks the tab closed] EW! AUGH, that was turtle porn! Who posts turtle porn?
TF: Who watches turtle porn?
E: I watched an unsatisfactory turtle* video, of a turtle eating salad, and I was looking for a better one. And instead I saw turtle porn! EW! Good thing we had sex [recently] because that’s over for a bit. It’s ruined.
[later that day]
The Fella: What are you smiling at?
Elsa: Nothin’.
TF: Whaaaaat? Are you watching cute puppy videos or chicken-having-sex-with-a-donkey videos, or whatever you get up to online?
E: [cuts him a slow look]
TF: Hey, you were watching turtle porn earlier, don’t act so innocent.
E: I didn’t know it was going to be turtle porn! I said “ew!” [quietly] That was gross.
TF: Yoooooou were watching turtle porn and you know it.
E: I HAD JUST WATCHED AN UNSATISFACTORY TURTLE VIDEO! It was a turtle eating a salad, but sped up. That is someone who does not get the point of turtles.
TF: No.
E: Who looks at a turtle and thinks “They’d be awesome if only they went FASTER”? No one!
TF: … Fast turtles would be awesome, though.
E: Yeah, IN A WAR. Not on YouTube.
*Apparently, that’s actually a tortoise. My mistake.
I’ve been thinking a lot this week about partnership and marriage, and especially about being married to The Fella, which is, y’know, awesome.
This Ask Metafilter comment gets to the heart of that awesomeness:
You know when you were a kid, and you’d get excited about sleepovers because you could stay up all night watching movies and talking to someone who just cracked you up and really understood you? Remember how special those nights felt?
Every day is like that now. Except we get to have really good sex, too.
Yup, that sums it up: I get to spend every day and every night with my very favorite person from now on, and we get to express that favorite-ness in every way we wish.
But I still haven’t really internalized that this is a two-way street of Awesome — that my very favorite person’s very favorite person is me.
Let me digress.
I had a rotten morning. You don’t need to know the details, but I made a small error that caused the not-sane part of my brain to castigate me and call me names (which A. is not productive and B. is NOT ALLOWED) while I flailed around trying to get dressed and out of the house in a hurry.
During this ridiculous few minutes of blistering self-loathing, The Fella kept interjecting helpful comments like, “You’re not stupid, you just made a mistake” and “How can I help?” and “Are these your pants?” When he should have been sleeping peacefully (and could very rightfully have been giving me grief over my meltdown), he was cheerfully pitching in to soothe me, to help me, to solve my problem.
And later in the day, I added some of those things together. I did the emotional math: I am married to my very favorite person, the person whose opinion I value more than anyone else’s, the person who I think is the downright AWESOMEST person in the whole wide world.
And he thinks I’m THE AWESOMEST, too.
I think he must be right. You don’t argue with the transitive property.
The Fella: [wrily] We should’ve played this at our wedding.
Elsa: I think we did. I added it to the playlist.
The Fella: … I’m insulted in retrospect!
The Fella often surprises me with a pint of ice cream. About as often, he picks one up at my specific request. (Somewhat less often, he picks one up even though I specifically asked him not to. Why would I ask him not to? Because I don’t always want it, but I will always eat it.)
Since the corner store rotates flavors randomly, there’s no point requesting a specific flavor. Still, The Fella knows what kind to get me: Chocolate with stuff in, or stuff with chocolate in.
Or pistachio.
We’ve had the “or pistachio!” conversation at least three times now, and here’s how that goes, more or less, every time:
Elsa: Or pistachio!
The Fella: [stops tying his shoes, looks up at me in disbelief] … really?
E: Yes.
TF: …
E: It’s my favorite, but they almost never have it. If they ever have it, I get it. If they ever have it, get it. EVER.
TF: How did I not know this? It’s like I don’t even know you!*
*This last sentence only occurred in the first iteration of this conversation, which suggests to me that subconsciously he does recall it, or he would face the same vivid surprise and apparent horror each time.
This weekend, we had another round of the same conversation, at which time I altered the standing order. From now on, the standing order: chocolate with stuff in or stuff with chocolate in, or pistachio. Even if I have specifically requested “no ice cream,” if they have pistachio, get pistachio. “Pistachio rescinds all other orders.”
What does love look like? There’s no one right answer to that question, but just in the last week, several people have shown me a few of the small, sweet, personal expressions of love — and I mean expressions, gestures and acts that might as well be smiles or gently furrowed brows. Here are two of them. This is the very face of love.
1. I’m scheduled for oral surgery, and I idly mentioned to my mother that the recovery period will make me wish we had cable “so I could just plop down and watch ‘Columbo’ for a few hours.”
Yesterday, she presented me with a bubble-mailer containing nine hours of “Columbo.” Mom, who is not yet confident in online ordering or particularly savvy at online searches, tracked down and ordered me a gift (and, from her perspective, a reasonable obscure gift) just to give me some comfort and distraction.
2. A few nights ago, I got three hours of sleep before I woke up hiccuping — and the hiccups lasted more than two hours. Silly? Yes. Funny? Yes. Harmless? Yes. Annoying and exhausting and, eventually, painful? Yes.
When The Fella left for work, I had stopped hiccuping. A few hours later, he called me to check in, “to see how you’re doing.”
I never miss a chance for self-mockery: “Because I was hiccuping?”
He was so gentle: “Because I know you had a hard morning.”
And that is how love can look: even in the face of the silliest affliction, he made sure I was okay before unleashing any jokes.
Elli
Elsa
