…after a 3-hour nap, we’re spending the rest of the night watching the History Channel, eating cornbread and making fun of the cat, who keeps running into the screen door. I’m wearing pajama pants, he’s wearing basketball shorts, and we’re mostly just curled up together on the couch.
Nights like this? Are my favorite.
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Within the last two weeks, I’ve been asked somewhere in the area of 22,342,349,801,976,256 times if I thought I was getting engaged during my birthday weekend. (A note to 99% of those who asked: When I said no, I meant it. It was not an opening for you to argue and say, “Oh, I bet you are!”) This isn’t limited to just birthdays, of course. Easter (because lifelong commitment is the appropriate way to celebrate Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection?), Valentine’s Day, New Year’s, Christmas…I am surprised I wasn’t getting the same questions on President’s Day, honestly.
We’ve been together for 2 years now and marriage has been on the table since, well, pretty much immediately. But as in all things, Jeff’s timing is different than mine. He continues to say “It’s going to happen soon.” (Which, GOOD. Because this girl is awfully tired of the I’m-So-Independent-Tap-Dance.)
However, after some thinking, our definitions of 30 minutes (which I think most people can agree is, you know, half an hour) are entirely different. For me, “We have to leave in 30 minutes” means we will be walking out of the door, ready to go. For him, it means start a load of laundry that includes the pants you need to wear, sit down and get engrossed in a hockey game, fix something to eat and generally Not Get Ready. I have been tempted to leave him somewhere many, many times.
So if those definitions are so wildly divergent, I don’t know what “soon” means. It could be tomorrow, it could be three years from now. I honestly have no clue. Which, I guess, means the holiday interrogations aren’t going to end anytime…well, soon.
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