My husband isn’t the romantic type. I’ve commented to him before that any attempt on my part to be romantic is ruthlessly stomped to death. He’ll make a joke out of it, etc. So, after nine years together, and our 9th wedding anniversary coming up in April, I’ve given up.
His way of showing love tends to be what the Five Love Languages calls ‘Acts of Service’. He’ll pick me up some Lindor chocolates, or bring home flowers, or go to four different stores to try and find the ‘right’ kind of ice cream. Especially when I’m pregnant. I never have to ask more than once, or even mention that I’m having a craving, and he’s putting his shoes on and heading out the door. He even will ask, repeatedly, if I’m craving anything.
But every now and then…
We were running errands yesterday, and a song came on the radio. She’s Good For Me, by Jason McCoy.
The chorus is:
She knows how to smooth my edges,
Talk me down off those ledges,
When I aint thinking straight,
Oh, she keeps the faith,
She stands up to all my demons,
Brother, she’s the only reason,
That I aint who I used to be.
Yeah, she’s good for me.
Wolf reached over, grabbed my leg, and said, “Baby, this is your song.”
And here’s the song itself…