One of the key aspects to my successful relationship with my spouse, the Carpenter, is my ability to knock this emotionally grounded man temporarily off kilter. It’s my love language and I express it well.
I do this by offering unsolicited insights, asking bizarre philosophical questions and making frank statements that, while completely justified in my mind, seem to unsettle him. I know he is concerned about the thoughts that stream unfiltered from my mind into verbal commentary. What can I say? It’s noisy in my head. When we got married, he agreed to take me as I am. It’s in the wedding vows. I know this because I wrote them. I am the disclaimer.
Let me set the scene: interior kitchen; Sunday, March 9, 7pm. The Carpenter is putting away dishes while I pack the leftover dinner into containers for our lunches the next day. There is no conversation, just the rattling of dishes, the snapping of lids, the opening and closing of the refrigerator door. Deep in thought of what the week ahead would bring, I blurted out, “You better prepare yourself for what’s coming.”
I delivered that line like I was delivering cold pizza two hours late with zero remorse. It was an intentional tone, as serious as that one time at a family holiday dinner when I used similar phrasing to warn the Carpenter it was imperative that he resist the urge to use his inside voice with any form of outside expression during a family gathering that could quickly spiral into volatile. Don’t do it. Resist the urge. That sort of thing.
He paused long enough to show his “tell.” I saw the thoughts swirl around him. Prepare for what? What did he forget? What did he do? What didn’t he do? Bills. Taxes. Garbage day, recycling and green bin, but not yellow bag. Check. It’s not her birthday. I think that’s in June. No, July. Yes, July. Prepare? What’s coming?
He blinked his lash-heavy brown eyes at me, signalling that I had his attention. I am confident he was holding his breath and if I just waited another minute, he’d have turned uncharacteristically red. His hands held the edge of the kitchen counter, feet firmly planted, as he leaned slightly forward, bracing himself for my ominous update. I love this man.
I leaned in toward him, as if I was about to impart a life-changing secret that could blow the kitchen wide open.
“Well,” I said, matter-of-factly, “On top of having the clocks spring forward last night, which will mess up our sleep and day schedules, this week brings with it a full moon, and not just a full moon, but a blood red moon, which is also known as a worm moon, and is the result of a lunar eclipse, that will be followed the very next day with the start of Mercury retrograde.”
I spoke faster than I realized, gaining speed with every word.
His eyes grew wider. From his mouth escaped a gasp that he surely didn’t intend for me to hear. I had unsettled the settled with science, astronomy and just enough woo-woo speak to freak him out.
“So you’re going to be weirder than usual and I should hide?” he responded jokingly, but also not jokingly. He gets me.
I’m much calmer now, Mercury retrograde aside.
