Driving with Wolf yesterday.
Every now and then, we escape the Minions, usually to go grocery shopping. God Bless Diva, our willing babysitter, who works for cash, and/or a Dr. Pepper.
I don’t remember how exactly we got on to the topic, but I started thinking about when we first got together. Our transition from dating to marriage happened at light speed.
Not having a lead in to a topic isn’t unusual for us. Wolf and I tend to have a nasty habit of introducing something, completely new, like a fire alarm going off, and expecting the other to make the jump with us.
Scary part is, we usually do. Except for me. I’m usually left scrambling to catch up, or staring at him blankly. He, on the other hand, seems to switch seamlessly.
I suspect the difference is, he’s only half listening most of the time, but until I can prove it, I’ll just quietly accept he’s of a more flexible frame of mind than I am.
While I side-eye the hell out of him.
Wolf and I were engaged six weeks and five days after we met. Married five months and six days after we met.
So, I mused, out loud, “Hmmm. I wonder if that’s the problem. That I didn’t play hard to get. I should have played hard to get.”
“Well, if I’d played hard to get, you’d be more romantical and stuff. Cause you’d appreciate having me.”
“Oh. You think that would do it?”
“Probably. I’ve noticed that folks tend to appreciate things that they work for, rather than happen easily. If you’d had to work to get me, you’d TREASURE me, damn it, rather than just treating me like I was utility. You know, always there, stable machinery, damn it. I AM NOT A COUCH!”
“Oh Honey, I TREASURE you!” he protested, with the beginning of a smirk.
I caught him before he could speak again. “Yeah, uh huh. I’m not talking, ‘I treasure you because I wanna bury you in the yard half the time’ either, Pal.”
He burst out laughing, which probably wasn’t the best thing when we were driving.
When he could talk again, he asked, “How’d you know what I was going to say?”
“Because I’ve been married to you for too long. And you’re not the only one who’s had fantasies about a shovel.”
Of course, considering how well our last attempt at romance went, maybe being a couch isn’t so bad…