My boyfriend has a habit. He likes to sit on the edge of my bathtub while I get ready for an evening out. He is only 10 minutes from shower to out the door and since I take decidedly longer, why not spend that time catching up?
My natural state of being is 80s hair band. At some point in the day I look like a lost member of Def Leppard or Motely Crue. I am only one 80s costume party invite away from ruling the world. When we have plans, I tame my tresses into an acceptable 2015 state of being. The first time my man sat on the tub and talked to me while I worked my, what I prefer to be secret magic, I let it slide. After a few days of this madness I addressed it head and hair on. Wouldn’t he rather just see me when I’m ready? Isn’t watching the process devoid of romance and beauty?
His answer was and remains a firm no. He loves the before, after and in-between. For him, watching the sausage being made does not take away from the succulent and delicious finished product.
When I was married, I quietly envied my friends when they moaned about working with their spouses on their taxes or spending the night discussing insurance with their husbands. I kid you not, that is what I wanted. Literally and figuratively. We had the fun, concert going, tailgate parties down as a couple but at times it felt like we were playing pretend. Because the grown-up, responsible, life planning part of adulthood was solitary. I handled the adult and the mundane and would have enjoyed some mental company. I wanted someone I could have fun and discuss home insurance with. Sexy, huh?
Post divorce, in the midst of a busy social season I met my guy. Slowly everyone else got crossed off my list, he was the only one with whom I wanted to spend my time. I found him utterly adorable, we had a lot of fun and we could talk. And talk and talk. I love discussing his work and appreciate that my opinion is wanted and valued. I love that he gets up before me, reads the paper and then tells me what’s going on in the world before I even open my eyes. I so enjoy sitting on the couch while he watches 60 Minutes and falls asleep to the History Channel. When he talks about the environment, politics or finance he is inevitably tickled that I am so tickled about all of it.
Tickled? Totally. Totally tickled that I have someone, that he is my someone that makes me laugh often and discusses insurance with me. Plus life planning, kids, divorces, ex’s, finances, schedules, parents, siblings, education, goals, work commitments, retirement accounts, health, dreams, projects, big decisions, all the scary and exciting, the good and the bad, the big and small. Lately, many of these things have come at once and it’s been a lot to take. Our home has been resembling a sausage making factory.
Our adult, insurance talking, everything talking relationship is not pretend, it’s real; real is messy and greasy and too much at once can make you sick. But I’m not a kid anymore, I actually have 2 kids of my own. I wanted an adult partner and I’ve got one. Now that I’ve gotten what I wanted, we need to manage how much sausage making is ideal for our coupledom. And we are. We are figuring out the balance of figuratively getting knee deep and keeping the romance, while figuring out how to literally balance sitting on the edge of tub, him watching me work my mane magic and still keep our spark, sparkly.
Really, in just the right dose, sausage making can be mundane, responsible and very, very sexy.