November 9, 2013

Knight in shining good-with-mousetraps.



I used to think you'd be tall, used to picture you sort of swarthy and indefinitely, you'd ride in on a trail of white rose petals that I'd collect, dry, and save until I could show our daughters how gallant you were.

Now, I think it would be nice if you weren't afraid of mice and ate donuts with me in bed.

I don't want one of those flower things around my head at our wedding because I think they're stupid. I don't want a fancy barn or a fancy dress that day, I want you, me, white linens, a few twinkle lights, and red velvet cake. This seems like the perfect time to add that if you shove that cake in my face, I make no promises about our private party later that night. I'm talking hit the sheets, I'm out like a light. You were warned.

I used to want you to be a piano prodigy, a doctor, billionaire, model citizen, and the winner of a Nobel Prize, but now, I really just want you to whisper funny comments in my ear at church and be okay with egg salad sandwiches for dinner.

I sleep comfortably alone on my queen-sized bed and it's confusing to me that I'll have to sleep next to you one day. I don't like sharing my bed, but ON MY HONOR I'll never make you sleep on the couch. Because when I was sixteen, my mother told me that's an easy way to keep your problems unresolved. So welcome, you. Get cozy because you're not going anywhere.

I'm good at doing dishes, even better at asking for tickle-back-turns. I like baseball caps and Boston Cream Pie. Do you like what I'm putting down? Also, what should I plan on getting you for Valentine's Day, because I feel like that answer will be useful for the rest of my life. Hint: I like Lip Butter and swanky art museum prints.





I used to pray for you to come. I used to pray for a lot of things, actually. Things that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with all the wrong men.

Recently, I've changed those prayers to fit the mold of "please make me the woman I need to be" and I can feel it working miracles on the both of us already.


I've come to a realization lately, as certain events have transpired, that I am terrified of getting married. The other day, I couldn't commit to dinner with this guy because I'm such. a social. mess. So, when I commit to you, I mean what I say, and I expect you to do the same. Promise me our only secrets are Christmas mornings and when I ask for a kiss, don't think twice. Unless I have a cold sore (is this a good time to tell you that I get cold sores?).

I don't want to marry my best friend because I don't need another one of those. I need a you. I want to marry the man who loves me because my intellect stems from years of collegiate study. The man who makes fun of me for wearing socks to bed and doesn't question the fact that Taco Bell is where I want to be on Saturday nights. The one who loves me because he's fought to do so. Because I'm a tough broad who's hard to catch. Got more problems than a three-legged war horse (no idea where that analogy even came from, but it seems pretty messed up) and I'm running, fast, from you. So speed up and make sure I'm worth catching, would you? Be my fourth leg. Comb my hair when I've got the flu. Build all of the IKEA shelves and be unabashedly invested in a life that you want to include all of me.



All love,

CK

3 comments:

  1. For the record, I'd date you any day. We can form our own awkward and delightful six legged war horse.

    I love this. This shift has happened a bit for me too. I still have my occasional fantasies about being swept away by an English prince but now my fantasies consist mainly of a man who will spend all day netflix trolling with me and killing all the spiders for me. Comfortable love is so beautiful, so much more gentle than epic, brutal love. I love love.

    Em
    Tightrope to the Sun

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  2. this is so perfectly perfect. there really does come a time when you let go of all that superficial stuff, and you dig a little deeper. you work on yourself being ready, and you think of the things that really mean something to you. like showing up randomly with ginger ale because i feel sick, or hiding sour gummy worms in your dryer because i said that i wanted some the other day. those dang men exist, and it is kind of crazy when you realize it.

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  3. "I used to pray for you to come. I used to pray for a lot of things, actually. Things that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with all the wrong men.

    Recently, I've changed those prayers to fit the mold of "please make me the woman I need to be" and I can feel it working miracles on the both of us already."

    I've come to depend on your thoughts and words. Like I depend on Diet Dew every morning at 10:30, but less unhealthy.

    And I went through the exact same process, with prayer and finding that man. I used to pray for him to come and just be here already, please. Then one Sunday, I was sitting in the chapel before sacrament talking to my Stake President's wife. She's the best woman, would drive me to see my mom in jail and brought me dinners all of the time. And her husband poked his head into the front door and they had the funniest little conversation ending in "I love you." And I could just tell, they meant it. So I asked her, "How do I get one of those?" And she said, "Pray for your spouse. But don't pray for him to come, I mean pray for him. Pray that he's doing well. Pray that he can be strengthened and get through whatever he may be struggling with and that he can be prepared for you and you for him."

    I had never thought of it like that, but it helped in a number of ways. Changed my perspective. And I felt more...useful. Somehow. You know? Anyway, I just love you.

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