The DB is on the road from NY to MI as we speak. I’ve been saving this post for a time he was unlikely to read it immediately. Not, of course, because I don’t want him to read it – but because even with the super plus clever pseudonym he’s not a huge fan of me writing about him. I get his point, I do – he does not opt to blog. He was dragged onto facebook by yours truly, kicking, screaming, and enjoying himself a teeny tiny bit. He’s just not that into putting his personal life on the internet, and me doing it for him isn’t really that different.
However, I blog. He knows that. I’m not about to write about how he forgot our safe word or anything (I kid, I kid- he never forgets). I am going to write about something that happened last week, and if he never gets around to this post, then that would just be a massive shame now wouldn’t it.
I was driving him to the airport and I saw what, if I’m lucky enough to get to stay with him, what I will hate about him ten years from now.
I have been lucky in most of the men that I’ve had the opportunity to date. While they all have issues, they have in general been a smart, loving, fun bunch of guys. The question ‘what would I hate about you in ten years’ never even crossed my mind before – not in a single one of those relationships. It never even crossed my mind to wonder why it hadn’t crossed my mind. I even loved some of them, and still never had that thought.
What happened with the DB was inconsequential. I was trying to figure out what a tall, pokey thing in a field was. I asked him if he knew, using pretty much those two words and some hand gestures. I was being as clear as I could, since I didn’t know what it was and therefore couldn’t tell him what it was in order to point it out. He, progressively getting more irritated with me, kept using the word ‘tower’. “You mean the tower? The tower on the left? That tower?” I didn’t know if that’s what I meant, because not knowing if it was a tower, I didn’t know if we were talking about the same thing. You see? Inconsequential. I cried. He felt bad for making me cry, but still didn’t really see why I cried. Honestly, I’m not sure I understood why either, but now I know. He is, in a word, brilliant. I’m no shortbus rider myself (insert a blush of modesty), and I know I have kinds of intelligence that he envies, but there will always be leaps of logic that he’ll have to help me follow him on. That will not always make him happy, and he won’t always handle it in a way that won’t make me cry.
I love him. And even though, if I’m with him ten years from now, that same action from him will probably make me throw coffee in his face and THEN cry, I’ll love him then.
I don’t think this ever crossed my mind before because never before have I had such an accurate picture of what my life would be like with someone. It could certainly be experience – I could just be getting smarter about what I like and what I don’t, based on what I’ve lived through so far, right? I don’t think so, though. I think it’s him.
So, if I’m still pointing at pokey things and just making bigger and bigger identical hand gestures when he asks me to elaborate ten years from now, I think that he’ll probably hate that about me. And if he makes me feel dumb, I’ll hate that about him.
But I’ll love him. And hopefully he’ll still love me. This is new ground for me, people. Scary stuff.