You Know What I Miss?
You know what I really miss about being married?
No, it’s not the sex. Though, I have to admit, a little nookie now and then sure takes the edge off. Funny thing about that, though… See, all the sex advice therapist type folks, like Dr. Ruth and Dr. Drew and so on, they all say that sex is supposed to get better the longer you’re in a relationship, right? You get to know each other’s moods and needs and wants. The communication is supposed to be better, so getting to the “good stuff” is supposed to get easier, right? Yeah, funny thing about that, in my marriage, not so much. In fact, the harder I worked at that, the worse the sex got. Hmm, have to sort that one out in therapy. So, anyway, it’s not the regular, two-person sex that I miss.
Nor is it her cooking. Oh, don’t get me wrong, my ex-wife is a great cook, when she wants to be. Might not be very imaginative or creative, and maybe she sticks a little closer to the recipe than I do, but what she did turn out was always, without fail delicious. And filling. In fact, at the end, I’ve seen e-mail wherein she told her new paramour that she was trying to a) keep me happy by feeding me well (didn’t quite work, though the meals were to die for!) and b) kill me with high-cholesterol meals (obviously, since I’ve lost 8 pounds in the past three weeks, that didn’t quite work either). Besides, I’m really enjoying my own cooking. My Near Eastern Spicy Chicken L’Orange fairly melts in your mouth. Trust me! And the beer bread I made for Thanksgiving keeps getting me invited back, year after year. Though, honestly, most folks like my sourdough best. And, I’ve started another sourdough starter just this week. So, it’s not the super delicious food, either.
No, what I miss is something I used to call “Snuggle Time”.
See, my ex could never stand sleeping with someone touching her, which I always wanted. I tried to get her to fall asleep resting her head on my chest, listening to my love drum hammer out its steady beat, but she’d never go for it. Instead, what we settled on was Snuggle Time. After I’d finally put down my book, turn out the light and slide under the covers, I’d slip over to her side of the king-size bed we shared and try to melt into her. She’d grab my hand like a little girl holding her teddybear, tucking our little combined fist under her chin while we “spooned”. And, for five or ten or, if I was lucky, fifteen minutes, I’d get to feel close to that tender, soft, curvy mystery that is woman. It was the best part of the day. For a few minutes, I’d know that ten-hour days, late shifts, missed meals, extra hours on the weekend, being on-call 24/7, skipped books, or software and computers that I decided I could live without were all worth it, because for five or ten or, if God loved me extra that day, fifteen minutes, I could feel truly worthwhile and content and in love. It was better than sex and more important than food, those few minutes of Snuggle Time. I’d forego either, or both, for a few extra minutes of Snuggle Time.
So, you see, the mean, old bear of a tattooed, crusty computer geek has a soft side.
Makes you feel all mushy inside, don’t it?
