Well, we were walking yesterday among the wild animals at Swamp Fest (is there anything more terrifying than an alligator oozing out of the water?) and I was telling George how I wanted to take the kids on safari, how amazing to see the animals in their natural habitat with no enclosures. “Doesn’t that sound incredible?” I asked him, imagining monkeys eating out of our hands, me in an adorable pith helmet and khaki suit, Annabelle and Henry dancing to the drums at sunset on Mount Kilimanjaro.
George said “No. That doesn’t sound great. I’m not going.”
He does love to rain on my parade.
A little later, we had lunch at the country club on the golf course. It’s a lovely place, but not my favorite, but I tolerate the elevator music and fried food because I know he loves it, even though he’s neer even played golf. After lunch he said, “Don’t you want to retire on a golf course? It’s so peaceful and beautiful here. We could learn to play gin rummy, learn to play golf…”
“No,” I answered. “I absolutely never want to live on a golf course.”
But that about sums up our relationship.
I feel most comfortable on adventures with wild animals; George feels most comfortable among civilized human beings playing gin rummy on a golf course.
I suppose that’s why we’re so good together–Senorita Spicy, untamed, wild; and Mr. Martini, civilized, sitting with his legs crossed talking about high art.
How is the world did we come together? What jokester created this attraction between opposites, an endless fracas where we can never see eye to eye?
And yet, I’m completely, madly, utterly in love with him–the sexiest, hottest, smartest, most handsome curmudgeon I’ve ever had the good fortune to know.
Bring it on Baby!
