[FW]: Notes to Future Husband #3

by cynthiarendon

The cold is coming. And I suppose there is something unmistakably human about wanting a companion for life, but I would say the feeling definitely heightens during the colder months.  On a completely different note, I would also say that there is something distinctly human about being irritable and crabby after a particularly difficult day. Soon, perhaps I will have a darling man to kiss me after a cold, frustrating day, and a very successful and productive day. Or any day perhaps. So on this Wednesday, I fantasize that our love will be like this.

Future Husband,

I imagine that you will be this supportive and patient.

Last night was a night I drove home and thought to myself, “Today sucked. This sucks. Everything sucks.” Knowing that you, a perfectly lovely gentleman, would be at the apartment waiting for me so we could curl up on the couch with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (and possibly a Sopranos rerun), made the cold, long, dark drive home bearable.

And, of course, “curling up on the couch” with you means to cuddle, laugh, and kiss while Tony Soprano whacks another capo. I almost forgot about my day.

Events from the day then trickled into my mind as we got ready for bed. I became quiet and short with you.

You asked,“Hey, do you know where my warm socks are? The thick, wool ones we got in Colorado last Christmas?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You wore them last . . .”

In classic passive aggressive form, I cheerily replied, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had to know where everything is. Let me just stop everything I’m doing and get on my hands and knees and look for them. Sound good?”

You knew. You knew it wasn’t about the socks.

Calmly you led me to bed and there we talked. I talked about how frustrating it was to miss my train to the city that morning. I talked about how my sources for an important story were not cooperating on that day — how I couldn’t get a hold of one. I talked about forgetting my lunch at home. I talked about my perpetual writer’s block.

I even went back.

I talked about the intense worriment I felt when I graduated and couldn’t find a job. You traced your nails along the backs of my hands as I told you my truths and worries.

I even went way back.

I told you how as a kid I wanted to dress up every Halloween, but my parents wouldn’t let me. I told how I didn’t want to be a princess or a fairy, but Sleeping Beauty’s Maleficent because of her super cool staff with the green orb on top. I told you that despite not ever being allowed to trick-or-treat, I never resented my parents. I told you how my parents are probably the most understanding and determined people I have ever known. That I love them, and losing them is a fear I carry around in my heart. I let the tears of fear show, and you clenched my hand.

I would have scared most people with my never-ending and maudlin diatribe. Not you. You were silent when I needed it. You whispered a word of wisdom or comfort when I needed it. Best of all, you are and will just be with me because, yes, that’s what I need.

By the way, your socks are in the wash.

Yours,

Cynthia

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