I was living in Hong Kong when I met my significant other. It was truly love at first sight and my only regret is that it took us so long to find each other.
Sure, okay, I was married. Had been since 1984. That’s a long time and a lot of years under the belt, so to speak. Would I have to give it all up for my new Romeo?
I was seduced. Bewildered, yes, and even bewitched. This new presence in my life took every one of my waking hours’ concentration. I allowed myself to dream about it at night as well, going over and over what we’d done the day before, thinking and worrying about how I’d behave and perform next time we’d meet.
It was a scary time. Giddy. I never worried too much about my husband, though. I’d think, “Well, he’s got his job and his golf to keep him busy, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind too much if I take out a little time for myself”. So that’s what I did.
Each week, sometimes even twice, I’d rush to meet the thief of my heart. I couldn’t wait to open myself up to the wonder of this new part of my life. I shared a depth of myself I never knew I had and discovered hidden talents and techniques I couldn’t have imagined; I realized I was more than just a one-note pony, that I was actually capable of taking and being taken to great heights of sensual pleasure.
I felt like a school girl with her first crush. Elated. Unable to think of anything other than my new love. It started to affect my home life: I couldn’t concentrate on ordinary conversations anymore. I found myself humming “our song” at inappropriate times. My life revolved around this passion of mine. But there was no thought of giving up Lars—far from it! In fact, I wanted to introduce them to one another. I was sure we could all live happily together. Was that unreasonable of me?
I proposed a meeting, and Lars, with no visible signs of trepidation or nervousness, agreed.
I had it all worked out: we would meet at 4 pm at a pre-approved location. I got there early, to prepare myself for what was to come. I was nervous. Changed my shirt. Put on some make-up. I felt like I had a frog in my throat. I paced the room. Muttered under my breath, rehearsing what I was to say and do. I didn’t want to screw up or make this more painful than I thought it might be.
Lars arrived at the appointed time, cool as a cucumber, our son in tow. That was a bit of a surprise, but I didn’t let Michael’s presence put me off my goal that day. After all, we were a family; I’d rather he knew about this sooner than later.
We sat down. I couldn’t look at my husband or my son, knowing I’d lose my nerve if I did. I kept my gaze firmly down, concentrating on what was about to happen. I was here to introduce Lars to my private life, my one and only, and suddenly all the nerves I’d felt before, disappeared when I stood up, walked towards the piano, turned to face the audience and opened my mouth to sing.
I didn’t sing just one song. I sang an aria. A Broadway show tune. I sang in a small ensemble. I sang with the larger group. When it was over, I wanted to keep singing.
As we walked out that night, Lars and Michael turned to me and said (not in unison, that would be too freaky), “Wow, we didn’t know you could do that”.
I’d successfully introduced them both to my significant other. I went to bed that night a very satisfied woman.
So I was talking to Mitch about the blog the other night. Here’s how it went:
Me: Hey, so did I tell you we’re doing another blog hop? I’m really looking forward to it.
Him: Cool! What’s this one going to be about?
Me: How we met our significant others.
Him: So…that would be me, I guess?
Me: I don’t really have another significant other, dear.
Him: (a look of slight dread dawning on his face) So…you’d be writing about how we met.
Him: The whole story?
Me: Well, yeah. That’s the idea.
Him: But you wouldn’t write about our first date, right?
Me: Aw, come on! That’s a great story! We went bowling, and…
Him: Hey, hey! You took a vow of silence on that one, remember?
Me: (sulking slightly) That was under duress.
Him: “Duress,” as in we’re still married.
Me: Whatever. Okay, maybe I can talk about how you came into the office when I worked at the university Registrar’s Office, and you wanted to do a course change.
Him: (hesitantly) Okay….
Me: And then you kept coming back, and after a while I realized you were coming to see me, because you can only do so many course changes in one term and still stay registered…
Him: I don’t like where this is heading.
Me: And then I figured out you must really like me, because you brought me a…
Him: Hold it! No. No, you’re absolutely not writing about that. I invoke husbandly veto.
Me: Aw, come on! That was funny! And you were only 17. No one holds things against you that you do when you’re that age.
Him: Walls and windows. Marriages have walls and windows. Walls to keep certain things private, windows to look out on the world. This one stays behind the wall.
Me: (definitely sulking now) Right, yeah, okay.
Him: Look, can’t you just say we met at university?
Me: I wasn’t going to university. You were. I was working for a living, I’ll have you know.
Him: (sighing) I know, I know. And then I came over to your house and ate all your granola, and you couldn’t afford to buy more because you were working for minimum wage, and you had to live on…what was it again? Gruel? Grasshoppers? You might have mentioned this once or twice over the past 30 years.
Me: There’s no need to be sarcastic.
Him: Moi? Sarcastic?
Me: Listen, I don’t want to talk about this any more.
Him: So…I call it a draw, then? I don’t talk about your stuff, you don’t talk about mine?
Me: Fine. You win. I’ll just write about how you censored me.
Him: Aw, poor Gnoogs. My heart bleeds cold borscht, as they say in the old country.
Me: You stink.
Him: So do you, dear. So do you.