Boy, sometimes I really do something right. Sometimes I can just look in the mirror and congratulate myself on a job well done.
Let me give you an example.
I did an absolutely outstanding job in choosing a husband.
No kidding. I rock.
I met my husband when we were 12 years old. We were in the seventh grade, can you stand it?
Of course, I don’t remember ever actually speaking to him back then, but I know that he was there. He played basketball and he came to the “luncheon” that the home ec girls made for the wood shop boys. He ate the pasta, and lived to tell the tale. He was a survivor.
Once we got to High School, we had a few classes together. Not math of course (he was smart), but I remember him being in some of my English and Social Studies classes. We didn’t socialize exactly, but I think I smiled at him a few times.
Then, once we all finally hit the appropriate maturity level, he was one of the group of kids who became my High School friends. Parties, football games, dances, concerts…..he was there for all of them. I have the grainy photos to prove it.
And for some mysterious and glorious reason, in the fall of my senior year, I suddenly looked at him with different eyes. As young and foolish and inexperienced as I was, I apparently had a moment of infinite wisdom and decided to turn my limited charms his way. I must have recognized, in some sweetly primitive way, that I had found a guy who would be worth the effort of luring and hooking. I don’t know what it was that gave me such advanced reasoning skills, but I applaud my sagacity.
I flirted, he noticed, and the rest is history.
We have been together for 40 years. (Oh, Jesus.) We have raised three kids and had our careers and learned all about life.
And I knew that I had done a really great job of choosing a mate. But this morning I had my proof.
I woke up late, rushed through my morning routine and headed out the door. A mile from home, my car began to make a sound like a Sherman tank on crack. I panicked, and gasped and didn’t have the slightest idea of what to do.
So I turned around and went back home. Because Paul was there. He looked at the car, he handed me his keys, he calmly assured me that he would take care of it. And without a second thought, I got back on the road, leaving my wreck behind me, in his capable hands. I didn’t have to question whether he would make it all better. I didn’t have to ask myself if he would be angry. I went to work and I faced my day and I taught my students and I knew, as I have known for 40 years, that a really great guy was there behind me, keeping me on track, making everything work.
I am amazing, aren’t I? I really do know how to pick ’em.