I am not proud to admit this, but I am, by nature, kind of a pessimist. I say kind of, because I think I am less of a pessimist and more of a worrier. I am famous for pre-worrying (again, not proud), and that glass? It’s usually half empty. Bad shit is all around us, amIright?
My husband Barry, on the other hand, is an eternal optimist. He wakes up every (okay, most every) morning happy, ready to get things done, blissfully unaware of whatever shit might hit the fan. That’s because he knows that, whatever it might be, we can deal with it. Intellectually, I know that to be true, but fretting is my go-to. Again, not proud.
Throughout this entire disaster called Covid, he’s kind of kept me alive. Not literally, but certainly emotionally. Actually, literally, too. Of the probably 600 meals consumed since March, 599 of them have been cooked by him. And I am talking real, actual (usually delicious – with the exception of that weird thing he did with that fish…yuk) meals. It’s quite impressive, actually. (Edited to add: I will look in the fridge and announce that there is nothing to eat. He will them, perhaps even just to prove a point, pull things out and whip up a meal. I used to feel defensive, now I just sit back and watch.)
My own (not so) little energizer bunny, he – and his brain – are in constant motion. He seldom (read: never) sits still for very long, is seldom (read: never) without some sort of project to tackle and, truthfully, watching him dart around, often in circles, provides endless entertainment. It’s almost like I can see the synapeses firing.
I am always (every.single.time) ready to go before he is. I will be in the car, lipstick applied (I miss pretty lips), cooling my heels while he is roaming in those circles, going through a checklist in his head (complete with counting on his fingers) to ensure he has every possible item we might need for any possible situation we might encounter. Note: we never need any of it and, if we are being honest, he often manages to forget the one thing we did need. Like, for example, the pile of Bed Bath and Beyond coupons we needed for the one place we were going: Bed Bath and Beyond.
His breakfast vs. mine: Can you guess whose is whose? Yes, those are eggs on pizza.
He has two speeds: on and off. I never shut off, even, alas, while I am sleeping.
He will go anywhere and do anything. I am a bit more,shall we say, selective.
His way of keeping score vs. mine: (Yeah, he beat me. This one time…)
As much as he hates needles, they don’t bother me in the least. I, however, abhor the sound, smell, and mere thought of vomit. One could barf on his feet and he would be unfazed. For my part, I can take or watch someone getting a needle with nary a blip in my blood pressure. This makes us a perfect union.
We have one essential thing in common: we love to laugh and, perhaps more to the point, we crack one another up. And that, my friends, is the key, particulary during these shitstormy days.
We also happen to be the world’s best photo bombers. Don’t believe me, well check these out for yourself. No one is safe from our stealthily running up and no one has refused to Airdrop the photo to me. No one.
The mom was in on this one. The kids had no clue we were behind them. The whole restaurant was cracking up, as were the kids when we showed them that they’d been bombed.
These young women spoke no English, having just arrived in NYC from Japan…but knew all about Airdropping.
These two kiddos thought it was so funny that we photobombed them that they proceeded to chase us down the beach trying to playfully scare us. They might have succeeded.
Mom saw us coming. The kids did not. I lost my phone in the process. One of the kids found the phone and ran it down to us as we were retracing our steps. It had fallen out of my pocket as I ran over to bomb. Insert eye roll here.
How cute are these two who were just trying to take an Insta-worthy shot. Barry kindy offered to take a photo of them that did not include us. He said, “that’s okay” while she was saying, “sure!” She won.
And then there is this. Thanks, B. for having my back, being my bestie, and making me laugh (usually with, but sometimes at) you. There is no one I’d rather be with in Crazytown.