And, of course, I mean that in a mostly non-sticky fashion. Emotional. That’s it. Not physically. Not that I’m not physically at–
Ergh! There’s no one else in the world who can reduce me to quivering lumps of semi-coherent sentences like the former Imperative, She Who Must Be Mentioned Kindly At Least On This Day Every Year.
Today is the day I long for each year, the day that she becomes, officially, one year older than me. And this lovely state of affairs lasts for the next week. I know it’s a petty thing to enjoy. I do. Still, it makes me giggle every time I think about it.
And it gets under her skin, me making sure she knows she’s a year older than I am. For at least this week. And, dude, after being married more than 20 years, getting a little under someone’s skin is pretty much the most physical and best thing you can do these days.
Kidding, of course. (Mostly.)
So it’s her birthday and we find ourselves way out in the wilds of northern Idaho where we’re spending the weekend working with Sarcasmo on his quest to become a better human being, capable of interacting with other humans in a good way.
Instead of having to book ourselves a lovely hotel to celebrate her birthday, we find ourselves already checked into a hotel and ready to, ah, well, you know, eat at a nice restaurant and then a comfy bed on which to sleep.
It’s been a rough couple of years for the Jones family as a whole. Some rough waters. Some patchy bits. All those various clichés for a difficult time. We’ve been living them. Each and every one. And I realized something. There’s no one I’d rather tough out the difficult times with than her.
She’s a tough audience, which makes the full-on belly laughs worth all the hard work.
And for all the other delighted gasps of pleasure that don’t involve (much) laughter. . . Well, some things have to remain private. Go look elsewhere.
I’m snuggled up with She Who Must Be Hugged.