No One Does Romance Like We Do

Last Saturday night, LCB and I sat on the couch, listening for the sounds that would signal that all three kids were finally in bed. LCB attempted to cultivate a romantic atmosphere between us by pouring me a glass of wine and talking softly. I made his job easier by only half paying attention while I read.

I multitask to a fault sometimes.

I don’t know, maybe this irked him or something, because then he did something that just didn’t really fit with the ambiance he was attempting to invoke. I won’t say what, because that’s not really the point here. All y’all with significant others know about these moments, and whether your sweetheart suddenly decides to pick her teeth, mention a school fundraiser he volunteered your services for, discuss a political issue you sharply disagree on, spill tomato juice over  new carpeting without a proper display of remorse, or belch like there’s no tomorrow, it doesn’t really matter much. The “moment” faces a serious setback.

I thought about what he did for a second, and then, without looking up from my book, I said, “You know you make it harder [to feel romantic] when you do that.”

“I don’t know why,” he said, cloaking his voice in faux-innocence.

Without pausing, I answered, “And that fact also makes it harder.”

We both dissolved in laughter, and he voiced proper admiration for my wit. During moments like these, I decided, I feel super-married. Not long-married, though our ability to interact this way has developed over time, but super-married, where we can rock and high-five our way through just about any situation. The Latin prefix super- means above or beyond; that’s just about right, I think.

And because I am super-married, moments later, I leaned back next to him and told him I almost felt like I’d gone up in my own estimation because of my clever remark. I asked him if that ever happened to him. He said yes, and something that sounded, underneath the muffled laughter, like “frequently.” Wordlessly, I hopped off the couch in search of a pen to write it all down, wanting to remember our exchange when I wrote about it later.

He didn’t need to ask why I’d left or what I was doing; I’m pretty sure he already knew. After all, he is super-married.

Happy Valentine’s Day!