My first impression of Jason was a strong one, with his heart-melting hazel eyes and contagious smile. The first time he washed my hair, massaging my scalp while doing a Bugs Bunny impersonation from “Rabbit of Seville,” I knew our life together would be fun. And it has been. Our marriage has character, a couple of characters actually. He with his knack for impressions, and me with my quick wit. Together we fight the stress of daily living with spontaneity and a sense of humor. We’re silly, we’re sarcastic, and sometimes we’re just plain stupid. Whatever helps us conquer the chaos or deflect domestic monotony.
On mornings when the bursitis in my shoulder renders me unable to lift my arms above my head without pain, my husband comes to the rescue. With a pink, plastic razor and Australian accent, he cuts through “the jungle” starting to grow under my arms. “Crikey! Look out! There might be snakes, crocs, and other predators in the land down under.” I don’t have to dwell on my pain or slight loss of independence, and can instead smile, laugh, and focus on how fortunate I am to have such a caring “mate.”
During the week, I often pack our lunches, usually leftovers from the night before. Then we meet for lunch every day around noon at the shop where he works. Just because we’re not at a fast food restaurant with a playground doesn’t mean we can’t play. We never know who we’re going to be. We might be British blokes with bad accents, cartoon characters, or comic superheroes. No matter what parts we play, it’s an animated hour-long diversion from our workday; plus, we save money and eat healthier. All of which make for a happier, less-stressed couple.
We know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and complement each other accordingly. One night a month when my jedi mind powers fail and saying these are not the billpayers you’re looking for, you can go about your business, move along does not work, my husband the math lord steps in. He uses the force to manage our finances, figure out who gets what and how much, and I write the checks (hey, I’m the writer after all). Then we hop into my landspeeder (which just looks like a Pontiac GrandAm to you), drive to each utility office and place our payment in the drop box. We do this after hours because the math lord’s mind powers tell him I will not remember to do this on my way to work the next day, and he’s right.
When we come home and face the daily chaos that comes with having two teenagers and that evil and inevitable “What’s for dinner?” question, we work together like superheroes. One of us whips up the meal in a flash, and the other washes dishes. He takes out the garbage, I clean the litterbox. He changes light bulbs and unclogs sinks. I sign school papers and help with homework. When last minute girl comes out of nowhere in need of posterboard for a project due tomorrow, threatening to make the throbbing vein in her father’s forehead explode with anger, I exclaim, “Quick, to the Batmobile!” and off we go to the dollar store to accomplish our mission.
We express our love in new and interesting ways. We’re not afraid to play, act silly and laugh out loud. Not only when we’re alone, but also in front of our kids and in public. Yes, that adult couple you see playing hide and seek in the clothing department is probably us. We’re not ashamed or embarrassed to admit it. Our marriage is not a typical one, but it’s a wonderful one that leaves lasting impressions everywhere we go. Th-th-th-th-th…that’s all, folks!