going to the mattresses

Elsa: [blah blah unasked-for advice blah blah]
The Fella: I love having you as my wartime consigliere.


It’s official

In case you were wondering, it’s official: he just plain gets me.

Things I said to The Fella to identify an actor whose name I never remember. Note: I had had two drinks.

“Little dude. With the eyes.”
“Elf guy! With the eyes and the teeth.”
“Little elf guy who’s not Tobey Maguire!”
“Sunshine of the Forever Thingee!

He said “Elijah Wood?!” just as I said,”The little elf dude in the movies you always want me to watch. YOU KNOW.”

Either he REALLY gets me or he’s just plain stopped listening

The Fella and I sit watching “Community.” Vaughn breaks into his Annie’s Song*.

The Fella: Didn’t Barry Manilow actually have an “Annie’s Song”?
Elsa: Wasn’t it John Denver?
TF: Oh, sure!
E: But I don’t know how it goes.
TF: I think it’s the “you fill up…” [He trails off, obviously reluctant to give us both the earworm.]
E: Ah. “Like a thing in a thingee.”
TF: Yup.
E: Like a blank in a blanket.
TF: Uh-huh.
E: Like a frog in a bucket.
TF: Exactly.

*which is nowhere to be found online, so here’s Troy and Abed mimicking Jeff.


[The Fella enters the room to see me scowling at the computer screen.]
The Fella: Whatcha watchin’?
Elsa: I’m watching… [looks more closely] a turtle… plaaaaaying… with a shoe.
TF: Oh, the turtle humping the shoe. Sure.
E: I don’t know if he’s humping it. He’s rubbing against it with the center of his shell, but that’s not where turtle genitals are.
[The video cuts to a close-up of the turtle’s genitals moving vigorously as it humps]
E: Oh. Ew! [clicks the tab closed] EW! AUGH, that was turtle porn! Who posts turtle porn?
TF: Who watches turtle porn?
E: I watched an unsatisfactory turtle* video, of a turtle eating salad, and I was looking for a better one. And instead I saw turtle porn! EW! Good thing we had sex [recently] because that’s over for a bit. It’s ruined.

[later that day]
The Fella: What are you smiling at?
Elsa: Nothin’.
TF: Whaaaaat? Are you watching cute puppy videos or chicken-having-sex-with-a-donkey videos, or whatever you get up to online?
E: [cuts him a slow look]
TF: Hey, you were watching turtle porn earlier, don’t act so innocent.
E: I didn’t know it was going to be turtle porn! I said “ew!” [quietly] That was gross.
TF: Yoooooou were watching turtle porn and you know it.
E: I HAD JUST WATCHED AN UNSATISFACTORY TURTLE VIDEO! It was a turtle eating a salad, but sped up. That is someone who does not get the point of turtles.
TF: No.
E: Who looks at a turtle and thinks “They’d be awesome if only they went FASTER”? No one!
TF: … Fast turtles would be awesome, though.
E: Yeah, IN A WAR. Not on YouTube.

*Apparently, that’s actually a tortoise. My mistake.


I came down with a cold just before New Year’s Eve, and it persisted until, ooooh, yesterday. That’s more than two weeks of snotty, sniveling sickness — and two weeks of experiencing The Fella’s shining example of unconditional love. Some simple acts of love:

– insisting I sleep cozied down in the bed with him instead of confining my coughing, hacking, restless, contagious self to the hard sofa.

– gazing at my slack, shambling frame as I change from a sweaty, baggy pair of gray PJs to a clean, baggy pair of gray PJs and saying (in a voice ringing with sincerity), “You’re so pretty!”

– driving to the restaurant whose name and address I don’t know to order the soup I can’t pronounce.

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.