YOU DON'T NEED TO TAKE MY PICTURE.

Mike getting ready to leave for a training hike.

This August he will hike nearly three hundred miles

of the John Muir Trail. In the meantime,

he walks around MANHATTAN dressed LIKE THIS.

This is a common before-bed conversation in our home:

11:00 p.m.

Me: Babe? Did you lock the front door?

Him: Yup.

Me: Thanks.

11:03 p.m.

Me: Babe? Did you lock the front door?

Him: You just asked me that.

Me: I did?

Him: Yes.

Me: Did you?

Him: Yes. I locked the front door.

11:07 p.m.

Me: Did you lock the front door?

Him: This is the third time you've asked me.

Me: ... it is?

Him: Yes.

Me: ... really? Because I don't remem-

Him: This is the third time you've asked me. YES I LOCKED THE DOOR.

The thing is? It's not my memory that's the problem. My memory is fine. It's my brain. My brain is moving faster than the rest of me. I'll think to myself, "I wonder if Mike locked the front door?" And before my mouth has time to say, "Did you lock the door?" my brain has moved on to something entirely different.

As a result, I am frequently accused of 'not listening'. I would like to state my defense here: I AM NOT LISTENING TO MYSELF EITHER. It's not much of a defense, but it's something.

It's funny, when you get to the point in a relationship when you begin to see all the little ways you drive your partner crazy. Mike is the only person I've been involved with for any significant amount of time, so I've experienced a lot of firsts with him. First airplane ride with a boyfriend, first time a boyfriend held my hair back while I threw up, first one-year anniversary where I realized I still genuinely liked the boyfriend, first time I realized another person found any of my little habits and idiosyncrasies annoying, et cetera.

For the first two years of our relationship, we were drunk on love. We (mostly) thought the other one was perfect. Then, we moved in together (because we are sinners) and (probably as a punishment from GOD) I started noticing little things he did that would drive me crazy. Little things like leaving his socks on the floor. Or how he lets his floss dangle out the side of the garbage can after he's used it. Or how he leaves produce in plastic bags in the fridge. Little things.

This August 23 (or is it the 24th?) will mark the SIX year anniversary of our first date the second time we started dating*, and even though we've been married for three years, it has only been within the last year or so that I've realized that I have habits that genuinely annoy him as well. And again, they are little things. Like, how I nag him about his socks on the bedroom floor when I have three pairs of shoes scattered on the floor in the living room. Or how, if it were up to me, the inside of our shower would be orange from mold because I am that uninterested in cleaning it. Or how I always pour myself an extra large mug of coffee, take four sips off it, then leave it somewhere in the apartment to grow fur over the next week. Or how I ask him eight times before bed every night whether or not he locked the front door.

But the thing that knocks me over? The thing that completely blows my mind is how clear it is that no matter how annoying I may be, he still loves me.

And I? I would jump in front of a train for that man if it meant that he'd still be alive and well enough to leave his dirty socks on my floor. Even though it makes me crazy.

7/18/09

*We dated twice. The first time was NINE years ago, the second time was six years ago. This July marked the NINE year anniversary of when we first ever met. Which now means that, officially, I have known Mike longer than his first wife knew him. I WIN.