Romance

 

I was shocked to realize that my husband and I have been living together for seven years. It went so fast and so happily.

Have we been attacked with the seven-year itch?

No.

By now the romance should be gone.

When we first were a couple we were always at our best.

Living together peels away any facade. We see each other in the morning with bad breath and bed hair.

We've tested the sickness and health bit. We've learned to put up with each other weird habits. 

There have been situations such as "what the hell are we going to do?" as we work through misc. problems.

And there are the daily things that aren't romantic like taking out the garbage and emptying the dishwasher.

Yet the romance isn't gone, but it is different.

Often I look up to see Rick with flowers in his hand. Or he'll walk into a room and and share a bit of  black chocolate. Both of us will drop a kiss on the back of the neck as we write or reach for each other's hand as we watch a program. We may not be big on candle light dinners because lunch is our main meal, but we've been known to play music to add to our lunch.  

It may not be considered romantic, but we thank each other for doing what might be considered routine chores. We listen to each other about our writing, hopes.

We have a no pussyfooting rule leaving one or the other to admit things we'd rather not. It usually starts out with "Your Husband or Wife is an idiot," depending on who is admitting doing something dumb or "Ejit" because Rick loves that Irish word. 

This morning it was cool and rainy. We stayed in bed reading. The dog was between us. Bad breath and bed hair not withstanding, it felt romantic and comfortable and those two are not opposites. They are our lives.