Sunday, February 13, 2011
Mismatched Dishes and Other Signs of True Love
He has an easy cat-like walk— unhurried, gracefully and strong. His face with its large dark, dark eyes competing for attention with full beautiful lips—it is a face that I will always love to look at.
We met in high school, but never connected. 20 years later we did and 9 months later we decided to have a baby and 9 months after that—the Beast was born.
I was, at first, reluctant. Our styles did not match. He loved the country, having a house, driving cars. I loved the city, the energy, the people and taking cabs. I tried to explain—it seemed so clear to me. Our first date alone was enough to illuminate our differences: I was wearing a small black Betsy Johnson dress—he, shorts with hiking boots. But he was so sexy—a summer romance seemed like a good idea.
But, of course, things snowballed… I tried to stop it, but he promised me that mismatched dishes are not something to break-up over. And it was a true to credit to my former therapist and my slowly evolving maturity that I took our mismatched dishes, not as a sign of a doomed destiny, but rather as true love.