"Maybe it's time to be clear about who I am. I am a person who is looking for love.
Ridiculous, incovenient, can't-live-without-each-other-love."
-Carrie Bradshaw, Sex and the City, "An American Girl in Paris, Part Deux"
In an effort to possibly understand me more (he's already excelled more than I ever thought possible), Mike has recently been watching Sex and the City. His favourite character is Samantha. I didn't think it I could love him more, but that does it. Remembe Cosmo quizzes that we all did in our confused twenties? (for me, my confused twenties and early thirties). Soon, after Sex and the City pervaded our culture, the quizzes had a new angle: "What SATC character are you?" I was never Carrie (despite a heightened neuroses that didn't let up until I was about thirty-four). Charlotte, out of the question. Miranda--yes, I'm sarcastic, but in the early episodes, her behaviour bordered on man-hating. I was always, by a landslide, Samantha.
Successful. Savvy. Independent. Fierce. Liberated.
Some classified her as a wanton woman (bring it).
Today is five months married. The Jays topped the Red Sox (best two out of three, however, goes to Boston).
I watch (and love) football now.
I will try anything Mike cooks for me.
His running advice comes first, before any other source.
His opinion is the one I seek out. The one I put the most stock into.
As I was watching snippets of Sex and the City idly tonight, a relaxing Sunday, I was cooking dinner on my own, lamenting the fact that Mike is home in Maine, working away with his family at their restaurant. Selfishly, I missed him. I wanted him here when I came home from my run to fill him in with the details of my track-time. I called him instead, lamenting my sad, sad times (I've lost a minute off my mile. I can't talk about it).
He straightened me out, coach-like.
"Ask any runner what happens when you take time off. Be glad you can still run". I nodded over the phone. I know well enough what happens when a runner takes time off.
They lose time. Yes. Metaphorically and literally.
So I take my slowness with a grain of salt.
And although I am not Carrie--I never forgot that scene, watching it wide-eyed with admiration at the age of thirty-one.
I was looking for love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, can't-live-without-each-other-love. And I found it with Mike.
Happy five months married.