emotional math

I’ve been thinking a lot this week about partnership and marriage, and especially about being married to The Fella, which is, y’know, awesome.

This Ask Metafilter comment gets to the heart of that awesomeness:

You know when you were a kid, and you’d get excited about sleepovers because you could stay up all night watching movies and talking to someone who just cracked you up and really understood you? Remember how special those nights felt?

Every day is like that now. Except we get to have really good sex, too.

Yup, that sums it up: I get to spend every day and every night with my very favorite person from now on, and we get to express that favorite-ness in every way we wish.

But I still haven’t really internalized that this is a two-way street of Awesome — that my very favorite person’s very favorite person is me.

Let me digress.

I had a rotten morning. You don’t need to know the details, but I made a small error that caused the not-sane part of my brain to castigate me and call me names (which A. is not productive and B. is NOT ALLOWED) while I flailed around trying to get dressed and out of the house in a hurry.

During this ridiculous few minutes of blistering self-loathing, The Fella kept interjecting helpful comments like, “You’re not stupid, you just made a mistake” and “How can I help?” and “Are these your pants?” When he should have been sleeping peacefully (and could very rightfully have been giving me grief over my meltdown), he was cheerfully pitching in to soothe me, to help me, to solve my problem.

And later in the day, I added some of those things together. I did the emotional math: I am married to my very favorite person, the person whose opinion I value more than anyone else’s, the person who I think is the downright AWESOMEST person in the whole wide world.

And he thinks I’m THE AWESOMEST, too.

I think he must be right. You don’t argue with the transitive property.

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3 thoughts on “emotional math

  1. Awww . . . hey, I wrote that! So glad it resonated. Like, choked up glad. Hooray for you and your Fella.

    (Now mine should come home so I can give him a big smooch.)

  2. Hey! Hello, Phoebe! Now I’m doing a whole ‘nother kind of math: the kind where I’m trying to calculate the odds of you stumbling upon your own words so quickly after I quoted them.

    Or do you just have a Google Alert for every pithy thing you’ve ever written? ‘Cause that would be a great many Google Alerts. A great many.

    I’ve revisited that comment of yours easily a dozen times since I first read it and thought how very clearly it cut to the heart of what’s so life-enhancing about a great partnership — or at least about the partnership I’m lucky enough to have found. I know not all marriages or partnerships are like that, but it’s the only kind for me and every single day I am amazed that I have it — that I have him.

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