On This the Day of our Engagement

Scene: last night, in the hot tub at our house in Podunk, Rhode Island.

Beej: Hey, what’s the date today?

Todd: I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to that stuff on the weekends.

Beej: It’s October 17th. Nine years ago today you asked me to marry you.

Todd: (splashing around in the water) And what did you say?

Beej: (stretching out in the hot water and sighing) I said no. Then you asked me what you needed to do so I would say yes, and I said that you needed to get me a hot tub and I might consider it.

Todd: I think you might be remembering that incorrectly. Just a little.

On the night he asked me, October 17, 2000, I was working in Boston, and he was working in Providence. We lived between Boston and Providence at the time, and I used to take the train into Boston for work every day, then I went to grad school at night and caught the late train home. Todd drove the 45-60 minutes south to Providence for work, and came home at a million o’clock every night.

He called me at work on a random Tuesday in October and said “Hey, how about if I come into Boston tonight and we’ll have dinner together in the city.” We hadn’t seen much of each other at the time, and I couldn’t wait until I saw him that night.

I was late meeting him at Government Center. I had to take the green line to my professor’s office on Beacon Street to drop off a paper. He never ended up reading the paper and just gave me a B because it had gotten lost in his office. I thought I deserved an A because he was the one who lost the paper. The green line was slower than weight loss, and I frantically checked my watch every other second until the train finally crept into Government Center. I ran up the stairs and out the street exit. Todd was there with flowers that he’d bought from the vendor on the sidewalk.

“There she is!” he exclaimed. Finally I’d shown up, and it didn’t look like he’d been stood up. We walked to Quincy Market, and checked out the benches under the trees. White Christmas lights were strung in the trees, and the branches were lined with thousands of squawking birds. The benches were covered in poop so we sat at the base of the Samuel Adams statue.

It was chilly that night, and I felt the chill of the stone base of the statue as I sat. Todd put his hands in his pockets. I wondered if his hands were cold. But Todd’s hands are never cold. He’s exothermic. I swear the water boils around him when we dive. I watched his hands; I wasn’t listening to what he was saying.

He held out a ring and asked, “So, will you marry me?” I burst into tears and said yes.

Here it is 9 years later, and I still have no idea what he said before he asked. I wish I’d listened more.

The Boy has Got Me Pegged

Allow me to reenact a conversation between Todd and I last Friday night as we drove to Vermont for the weekend. This conversation precisely demonstrates how well this man knows me, and I want to share it with you in honor of tomorrow’s “Beej and Todd’s 5th Wedding Anniversary Extravaganza.”

Todd: Hey, on the way home let’s try that other route that my Mom told us about. I want to see if it’s faster.

Beej: Sure. We’ll have to remember to take exit 10.

Todd: How do you know it’s exit 10?

Beej: Because I am the knower of all things good and evil, that’s why?

Todd: Good and evil? Ha. Try obscure and ambivalent. You are the knower of all things obscure and ambivalent.

Beej: What is that supposed to mean?

Todd: Well, only you would know which exit to take for a route that we’ve never gone on. You know more random tidbits of information than anyone I’ve ever met. I mean, you know how to sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” in Swedish. It doesn’t get more obscure than that. Hell, I could walk into a store right now and point out a shirt and say “I want to buy that shirt” and you’d say something like “Oh, I saw that shirt at a Sears in Albany, NY in 1992. It was cheaper then,” without batting an eye.

And you know what? He’s absolutely right? I remember the phone number for my Dad’s company, the kicker is that that he sold that company when I was 6 years old. If you put a saxophone in my hands I will still remember how to play, note for note, the solo I played in “Blowin’ the Blues” in sixth grade jazz band.

Over the years Todd has come up with methods for dealing with my penchant for remembering the obscure and ambivalent. You would not believe how many conversations we’ve had that have gone something like this:

Todd: Hey, do you remember when we bought that gum you really liked?

Beej: Yeah, we were in Newport. Man, that was really good gum.

Todd: Well, do you remember the name of the band we saw at the bar the night before?

Beej: Of course I do, it’s blah blah blah…

Now, keep in mind, just because I bought that gum in Newport doesn’t necessarily mean that we saw that band in a bar in Newport. We could have been in an entirely different state. But because he knows that I would associate the great gum I bought in Newport with an entirely unrelated event from the night before he knows the right questions to ask. (Side note: I probably wouldn’t remember the brand name of the really delicious gum if he’d asked me. Maybe if he asked me what the name of the band was, I might remember the gum. My weird associations are not always reciprocal, however.) If he’d asked me, “Hey, do you remember the name of that band we saw that night?” I would probably say “No I don’t remember. How the hell do you expect me to remember that!?”

It’s for this reason that he was able to call me up when I was on a business trip in Saint Paul, MN and ask me “Where is our copy of Pirates of the Caribbean?” and I can answer “It’s on top of the TV upstairs,” and be exactly correct. If I was home and he asked me that, I probably wouldn’t have known.

Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary, we were together for six years before making it legal, and Todd married me anyway knowing full well about my knowledge of the obscure and ambivalent

Happy Anniversary.

This One Goes to Eleven

Todd,

It’s been eleven years since we kissed for the first time. After that kiss, I began to say things like “My boyfriend Todd and I…” and I would say “Yes, I do have a boyfriend,” when people asked.

In the years since that kiss, you’ve gone through a variety of titles. For three years you were my boyfriend, for another three years you were my fiancé, and soon it will be five years since I’ve been calling you my husband.

But there are a few other distinctions that have stuck to you over the whole of the eleven years.

Best friend.

Secret keeper.

Nurturer.

Heat source.

Dive buddy.

Love of my life.

Thank you for all that you are and all that you’ve added to my life. Thank you for all that I am because of you.

And most of all, thank you for taking this picture and not getting annoyed at me for posting it on the Internet.

I love you,

Beej

The Last First Time

It was 10 years ago today that I had my last first kiss. I remember every delicious detail of it. You were lying on the couch in the downstairs TV room at your parents' house. I was sitting on the edge of the couch. Looking into your eyes. Contemplating the idea of you. It didn't occur to me then that would be the last time I'd ever kiss a man for the first time.

I went to see you in Vermont for the weekend. We were in that weird pre-boyfriend/girlfriend phase where you could sense the chemistry between us, but I wouldn't give into being in a relationship. It was a weekend for a lot of firsts for us. The first time we kissed, the first time you tried to teach me how to water ski. The first time your warm hand reached across my bare belly as we were swimming at Buttermilk Falls, and you were trying to pull me behind the waterfall. The first time I stared at you in awe, impressed by your natural ability to show me a good time, your natural ability to set the scene for me.

I spent the weekend staring at you, but trying not to get caught staring at you. You drove the truck to the lake, and I very unsuccessfully pretended to look out the window on the other side of you. You caught me, but let me feign staring out the window.

Todd, the last 10 years have been the best I've ever had. Thank you for what you add to my life. Thank you for the life we've created together, without you none of it would be possible. Thank you for making me laugh every single day.

Thank you for being the last man I will ever kiss.