Monday, May 4, 2015

     What would a perfect day with your significant other look like? Would it be on some remote beach with the sun pouring down on your faces as you walk hand-in-hand? Would it be sitting across a table in a gourmet restaurant reminiscing about your last vacation? Would it be sitting at the dinner table with the kids screaming, the dogs barking, the phone ringing and the spaghetti sauce spilling over on the stove? We all have our moments, and I would bet the really special ones weren’t even planned.
Today was such a day for Mr. Wonderful and me.

     I laughed when he took my picture because he hates taking them on my phone. His thumb always gets in the way or the photo ends up with his shoe in it. This time, I’m not sure I’m in it, but the laughter and the affection we both felt was frozen in a moment we can never recapture. That’s the magic of the “perfect” day--we never know what “perfect” is, and it usually isn’t. 

     I am not a flower person. I don’t know a daffodil from a dandelion, but I do know what’s beautiful. These must be cockleshells like in the children’s rime. When I looked inside, I thought, “There must have been a little gnome who painted the dots.” Perfect.

     When I was growing up, I remember sitting at my father’s feet while he read the paper. I couldn’t wait until he was done so I could talk to him. Minutes seemed like forever, and I could never understand what the paper had to say that was so much more important than what I had to tell him. My first husband was a voracious reader. If I ever wanted to talk to him, I had to line up behind the latest 1000-page tome. Mr. Wonderful has his ritual in the morning, and I dare not interrupt while he’s digesting the latest editorials. Even at the park, I seem to attract such men. 

     “Yes, babe? I’ll be right down. I’m reading.” Perfect:)