And even though we’re not normal by any account, we get by.
He sings Carly Simon in the shower… but you didn’t hear it from me.
He takes care of me when I get freaked out. Even when I only get to see him for a few minutes a day because medical school makes time disappear.
And he usually makes sure I eat something before I wig out and start crying.
And he makes phone calls and talks to strangers on my behalf. True Story.
And when my car breaks down, he makes things all better… eliminating my need for periodic roadside (emotional) breakdowns.
… I cry when something goes wrong with my car. I’m sure it’s a sign of some wacked out disorder and I should probably be medicated.
I love him even though his birthday is on Valentine’s.
I love him even though he doesn’t care for vegetables.
And I love this thing we have, even though we’re broke and messy.
Even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else. It makes sense to us.
There may not be a ring. There may not be a plan. But we love each other.
And we have a happy little family with more cuddle and snuggle than any sane person can really handle.
We’re building a future, or something.
And someday he’ll figure out what he wants to be when he grows up… and maybe I will too.
And someday we’ll have a garden, and maybe a chicken coop.
And maybe we’ll travel the world or something, because that’s what people do.
But in the mean time, we’re getting by. We’re thriving.
… the gypsy and the hobo…