I’ve heard some recent talk about finding your soul mate. 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 who can fix our humidifier or explain to our teenager why he cannot see the midnight showing of Spiderman on a school night.
Besides, I know we are perfectly compatible. The captain’s a trouble-shooter; I’m always getting into trouble. We’re a Lucy and Desi combo, and the fact that he is still around shows you just what kind of man he is.
The guy’s always needed to pick up a boy on his way home from work, repair a broken bunk bed, figure out the rules of a new game, find one of my lost computer files, fix our dripping faucet, or open a jar of mayonnaise.
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 dinner.
But as I’ve contemplated, I realize my husband might actually be my soul mate. This has me concerned.
I may not have much to bring to the table (besides dinner) in our marriage, but I was the English major so the one thing I should do is explain the nuances of Jane Austen — since that’s the kind of thing men really want from their wives. But no. The captain trumps me even there. He’s offering all sorts of insightful commentary while we watch Pride and Prejudice together.
Or while I am glued to the BBC series of Dicken’s Little Dorrit, Captain comes in and out of the family room and says things like, “Oh! Well the fall of that house is totally symbolic.” Oh really?
Or when we’re watching a brilliant movie, and one of the characters will say, “This has been the best day of my life!”
The captain says, “Things are definitely going to go downhill from here.” Seriously, I didn’t even see it coming. How often did I study foreshadowing, and yet it’s my husband that turns out to be the movie prophet.
Yes, if the guy were a woman, I would totally invite him to my book club — if I 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 every word, wishing I could come up with something clever to say. Fortunately, we don’t have much time to read books together.
I’m also worried that he might be my soul mate because we often finish each other’s sentences:
Like when Captain says to one of our sons, “WHAT!,” I chime in with, “… WERE YOU THINKING?” We are truly of one heart and one mind at those moments.
I guess I have reasons to be concerned. But I’m going to love him and stick with him, even if he is my soul mate.
Do you have a soul mate? Have you dealt with this?
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