Did you know that I am married? That I share my life with a wonderful husband, and father of our five boys?
But… there are more sides to this story than mine. I owe my lavish, stay-at-home lifestyle and this very blog to my husband. He is my patron. He’s also a devoted spy, reading what I write and ensuring no one’s comments get too frisky.
Yet I rarely specifically mention him.
Me: “Did you see what I wrote on my blog?”
Him: “Oh. Yeah. That story.”
Him: “It’s okay. You always write about me after we fight.”
My one-sidedness has been niggling at me. I haven’t been fair. I haven’t been honest. I love the guy, after all, and think he needn’t be misrepresented.
I’ve loved Kevin since we were 16 years old. One month or so after my birthday, I came out to the front porch of our house to find it decorated in paper cutouts. I knew the signs, and yelled inside that my sister must have been asked to the upcoming school dance. I was wrong; I’d been asked.
Amongst the paper décor was a page of instructions: to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” at the top of my voice, say the alphabet backwards, go to a Geocities website, and call a phone number at the bottom if I needed ‘technical support.’ He’d also included an envelope of the letters of his name.
I ended up succeeding in solving the puzzle, thanks to a little reverse phone number searching in our school directory. They wouldn’t have that these days…
The day of the dance, we played Capture the Flag in the school hallways, ate in our finery at a friend’s house, and attended the dance itself at the State Capitol Building. Neither of us could actually dance, so we talked a lot and pretended we could.
Although Kevin and I attended the same junior high school as well, that date was our first interaction. I went home, determined to set up that LAN party he’d proposed during our pretend-dancing. He went home and told his sister he wanted to marry me.
Kevin’s an interesting person: extremely intelligent and analytical to many extents but also creative and artistic. His sense of humor is a lot like mine -or mine’s like his.
My mother: “You two have the same odd sense of humor. Do you know how I know?”
My mother: “When someone says something, you both crack up, but no one else is laughing.”
She’s mostly right. Kev and I diverge a bit with morbid humor (him) or slapstick (me). We’re both right up wry alley, however, and enjoy intelligent observations.
Our talents and interests crossover more often than complement, but it makes choosing a movie to watch easier. After all, what other guy chooses “Pride and Prejudice,” or what other gal chooses “The Matrix?” I believe our disagreements stem from the similarities; but maybe all couples fight, and fight over other things.
On the whole, I sure love my Kevin. And now you know a little more about him; about us.
This is the point at which I tend to ask the audience a question, like What’s something you want to know about Kevin? but he’s mine mine mine and so you can’t.
Instead, who’s your other half? Who supports or shares your writing journey? Does he or she read what you create?
Check out what I wrote this week:
Friday, January 3: “Old Year, New Year – Old Me, New Me,” an update on what’s been goin’ down in the last month, and some resolutions.
Saturday, January 4: Announced the 53rd Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is a commercial jingle. PLEASE ENTER!
Monday, January 6: An inspirational quote by Thoreau.
Also, “Postpartum Depression: Why Mental Health Surveys Suck” over at The Bipolar Collaborative Blog.
Tuesday, January 7: “Baby Blues (Eyes),” a poem.
Wednesday, January 8: Today.
©2020 Chelsea Owens