I'm Crazy, Aren't You?

It has happened so infrequently in the past four and ½ years, but The Man and I will not spend this weekend together.  I am headed to Louisiana for a party for my son’s fiancée (she is graduating college).  The Man has work to do here in Houston.

Now you may have gathered if you have read any of my posts where he is featured, he and I really enjoy spending time together.  Time with him is “Sunday Easy.”  So I’ll miss him this weekend.  But a little time apart will be good for us.  It’ll give us back a bit of our individuality.

I noticed how much we identify ourselves by each other at dinner the other night.  Although he was sitting a bit down the table from me, I kept hearing him inject my name into the conversion:  “Jason does this…” “Jason and I…” “Jason likes…”  I chuckled a bit at the mentions.  (I was more tickled when The Man referred to what kind of truck I drive.  The woman across the table looked to one of our older friends and asked how he liked the truck. Boy, did I feel like a kid.)

I use him for juxtaposing.  He is sweet and kind.  I’m a bit more gruff and grumpy.  All I say is if one of us has to be the “nice one,” someone has to pick up the reins and be the “mean one.”  I take that role.  One of our friends constantly comments on how I act cruelly to The Man.  The Man and I secretly laugh.  He knows how wrapped up in him I am.

Once I left a sticky note above the washing machine where I knew he would see it.  It said “I’m crazy about you.”  My ten year-old nephew saw and misread it.  He asked me, “Who put up that note that says ‘I’m crazy, aren’t you’?”  That phrase is now part of our frequent exchanges, along with “How ‘bout those Astros.” (meaning “I love you;” I’m just too macho to say so.)

It’ll be odd not spending the weekend together.  So I’ll keep him with me on the drive to Louisiana.  We’ve been listening to a lot of Plastic Beach by Gorillaz.  I’ll play "Rhinestone Eyes" over & over and imagine him rapping his hand on his leg along with the beat.