I recently read the viral article, “I Didn’t Marry My Soul Mate”, and I really admired Ms. Lee’s honesty. Then I tried to remember what a soul mate was in the first place. Perhaps Robert or Elizabeth Browning could enlighten me but their book of poetry hasn’t been seen around our house for ages. Dr. Seuss is as good as we get now.
Whatever soul mate means, it seems entirely irrelevant. I’m much more impressed with a man that can get our humidifier going again or explain to our teenager why he cannot see Catching Fire’s midnight show on a school night.
Besides, I know that the captain and I are perfectly compatible. He is a trouble shooter and I am always getting into trouble. We’re a Lucy and Desi combo, and the fact that the captain is still around shows you just what kind of man he is.
In my defense, I am trying to be more competent. I just learned how to work our cable remote, and I even ordered pictures online. I usually have a hot meal waiting for him when he comes home, and last night I put on some lipstick after we prayed for our tacos.
Still the man is always needed to pick up a boy on his way home from work, talk his little girl into finishing her soup, or open a jar of mayonnaise. He’s definitely the heavy lifter around here.
But what I find even more concerning is that it’s possible that my husband might actually be my soul mate.
I may not have much to bring to the table (besides dinner) in our marriage, but I was the English major for crying out loud so the one thing you’d think I could at least help him understand the nuances of Jane Austen (since that’s what all men are really wanting from their wives). But no. The captain trumps me even there.
Like we are watching a critically acclaimed movie, and one of the characters will say, “This has been the best day of my life!”
My captain says, “Things are definitely going to go downhill from here.” Seriously, I didn’t even see it coming. How many classes did I take on foreshadowing, and yet it’s the captain (economics major) that turns out to be the movie prophet. Or while I am glued to the BBC series of Dicken’s Little Dorrit, the captain comes in an out and says things like, “Oh! Well the fall of that house is totally symbolic.” Oh really?
Yes, if the guy were a woman, I would totally invite him to my book club (if I actually went to one). He wouldn’t waste time talking about Macy’s last sale or the marriage of his oldest son. He would get right to the heart of things, and I would hang on to each of his words, wishing I could come up with something brilliant to say. Fortunately, we don’t have much time to read books together.
Another fact that seems to indicate that we might be soul mates is that we know what each other’s thinking, and we often finish each other’s sentences.
Like when the Captain says at one of our sons, “WHAT?!!!!”
And I chime in with, “WERE YOU THINKING???!!!!” We are of truly one heart at those moments, and we both think that the boy ought to be grounded through Easter and repaint our whole house.
Anyway, I love the man enough that I’m going to stick with him, even if he is my soul mate.