A few weeks ago I was at a hotel a friend works at, just coming back from a fun day of kayaking. We were hanging around waiting to pay and I found myself in a short and sweet conversation with a dude Amber works with. When we walked away, I told her, “Well. He was a very handsome boy.” I didn’t realize the error of my ways until she suddenly burst into laughter. Throughout the rest of the day whenever she started talking about someone she liked or thought was cute, she’d teasingly say, “He’s a very handsome boy.” Sigh. I find the realization of my words a slight bit disturbing for a couple of reasons:
1. I sound like I’m telling someone about the nice young man, half my age, helping me across the road. I’m just barely 22 years old and yet you may want to start calling me Granny Christina.
2. I didn’t notice until walking away why I found this boy so ‘handsome.’ He had brown hair. A cute smile. A really thick country accent. He reminded me of my husband.
Despite the bit of embarrassment, I know I wouldn’t have it any other way. Marriage,all of its little quirks and charms and habits, seems to suit me. I like folding his undies and wearing his old t-shirts. I love smelling him on me even when he’s not around. There’s this affection in all of our comfortable conversations that I’ll never grow tired of- the going back and forth that means absolutely nothing but leaves me feeling perfectly content and satisfied just the same. I can’t help but think that we’re experiencing romance at it’s finest when we can openly talk about pooping and peeing and still be sexually attracted to each other. It’s a nice ego boost to be sincerely told that I look beautiful even when I feel my most unattractive. I love the quick phone calls throughout the day sprinkled with laughter, the way he seducingly says my name when I’m annoyed with him, our arguments that have usually become more fun than angry as we both know it’ll last ten minutes anyway. I giggle when we kiss and both open our eyes really wide and creepily at the same time. I both hate and adore the fact that he constantly calls me out on everything I’m able to hide from everyone else. There is an underlying sense of understanding in all of our private moments, unspoken words for each we speak so that our language has taken on a life of its own. I look forward to coming home after a long day and sharing the cramped couch with him and our puppies; To the t.v. shows he forces me to watch and I pretend to hate; To falling asleep nuzzled up on his chest and nudging him gently when he starts grinding his teeth; To the surprise kisses he plants on my cheeks and hands, just because; To the lazy Sundays where we waste the day,cuddling away. I am in awe of his ability to put his life on pause and listen to every part of my day– a quote from the book I’m reading, a talk with a professor, an argument with a loved one, a funny moment with a friend–there is nothing unimportant about me in his eyes. I’m amazed that a relationship that I started as a teenager has become as strong as it has today. And I honestly and perhaps crazily believe that, whenever we end up dying, we’ll just have to be wherever we end up together. After seeing one too many failing marriages, I once thought that one day we’d wake up and realize we just weren’t happy anymore. But after three years of pure happiness, I’d at least like to believe that becoming absolutely miserable is a slow and painful process that doesn’t happen just overnight. And if that’s so, then we seem to have a lot more good times to follow before we become absolutely miserable together. You have no idea how much joy that brings me.