I was sitting in my living room, at my computer, reading one of the many blogs that I read on a daily basis. This one is a new one - recommended by a friend - and I can't get enough. So, I'm reading it and the blogger is spinning the tale of how she met her husband. Per chance, MY husband happened in and stood behind me, rubbing my neck and shoulders as he often does, and nosies in on what it is that has me so intrigued on the screen. I could tell he was reading a few lines and then he said "what are you reading? a cheesey, second-rate romance novel?". I explained to him that it was someone's story and it was great and awesome and made my toes curl. He responded "well, it's still a cheesey, second-rate romance novel".
I told him, yes - maybe it was, but at least it was SOME romance. I went on to inform him that this was something lacking in our marriage - romance. He grunted and rolled his eyes, and proceeded to pull up his shirt and push out his Ethiopianesque stomach and rub it in an exaggeratedly sensual way.....he was romancing me. THIS, my friends, was my romance.
We exchanged a couple of laughs and he exited left to go to the little boy's room. As he was leaving he said "yeah, we really DON'T have romance". He knew. We lack it. We always have and it hasn't been something that really has caused a problem for us. He doesn't need it and I knew full well what I was getting into when I married him. So, in a sense, I had decided I didn't need it either.
He was gone for a few minutes then returned to me and took me by the hand and asked me if I wanted to go sit on the patio. He held my hand and led me like a child through the dining room, through the kitchen, when I asked ....."Is this you trying to romance me?" Yes, it was. I also noticed that his hand was quite damp (no doubt from washing his hands after his bathroom excursion). "Yes, it's my idea of romance. And btw, I peed on my hand - I hope you don't mind".
Today, in my house, humor trumped romance. Today.