Every couple has their little stories that they look back on and swoon over. This is one that my husband and I share. Well, he probably looks back and winces, whereas I giggle uncontrollably, but I'd say that averages out to a romantic little swoon, so we'll call it good.
It all started when we met back in 2002.
La la la romance la la la dating la la la. Anyway.
In spite of the fact that it was Seattle, it was an epically hot summer. I mean, it was nuts. Horrifically hot.
Yeah. It was THAT HOT.
And since it doesn't usually get THAT HOT in Seattle, no one has air conditioning. While we were sweltering away one fine afternoon, my lovely boyfriend decided to be a dear and get us some popsicles to try to take the edge off the insane blistering heat.
(note:
popsicle image courtesy of foodclipart.com, because I can't draw them to save my life)
Now, while it was only a short walk from the freezer to where I sat awaiting the promised treat of tasty frozenness, it was a long enough journey for some gears to start turning in his head.
He saw the popsicle in his hand. He saw my semi-lowcut shirt (which I had the figure to wear at the time...*le sigh*). And he had a thought.
Eddie, darling, this is where it all went wrong. You should have just let that thought go.
But no, he didn't. He reached the chair in which I sat, and he executed his badly-conceived plan...
Now, in order to explain what happened next, I must first explain a few other details.
First, I'm sure you're all aware of the concept of a kneejerk reaction:
Second, in spite of the oppressive heat, I was not wearing my Birkenstocks that day. No, I had been at work that day, and was thus wearing my customary not-slacking-off-in-the-heat footwear:
With those factors in place, and taking into consideration the height of the chair in which I sat compared to Eddie's height, the temperature of the popsicle that had just invaded my cleavage, and Eddie's unprecedented -- and not since repeated -- ability to keep a straight face until just before the attack, and...
...well, certain things were inevitable.
The aftermath, my friends, wasn't pretty.
Funny as all hell, but not pretty.
Eddie recovered, though there was much wincing and swearing.
The following day, in a preplanned and completely unrelated series of events, Eddie and I got engaged.
As I said, these events were unrelated. However, I have been known to make bizarre connections in my brain. I mean, when things happen in certain sequences, it just...makes me wonder.
With our tenth wedding anniversary on the somewhat near horizon, I've been doing some thinking. And I think I might like an anniversary band of sorts. I'm not usually a jewelry kind of girl, but...you know, it might be nice.
So, if the past is any indicator, I know exactly how to get the diamond I want...
(And for the sense of humor impaired, no, I am not advocating domestic violence. This is just a running joke between my husband and me.)
Now, I'm an insomniac. Sleep and I are not very close acquaintances. Eddie, however, has no trouble sleeping.
I'm telling you, the man sleeps like the dead.
It annoys the bejeezus out of me. I mean, it's just not fair. We're married. We're supposed to share everything, and I firmly believe we should share the lack of sleep, too. Especially when he throws it in my face by doing horrible things like getting up at crap o' clock...
...and bouncing out of bed like he doesn't know the meaning of the word "tired".
This annoys me. Greatly.
Since I can't defeat insomnia, I have other ways of leveling the playing field. Specifically, by using psychological warfare to screw with his sleep cycle so he can suffer like I do.
I'm a cruel, cruel wife, it's true.
Then I throw a little whisper out there, just to mess with him.
Result:
But this is a slow, steady process. The mind is worried, but the body is strong, and he drifts off once again.
And I move in for the kill...
And before long...
Repeat until he's afraid to close his eyes.
