Just Keep Swimming.

  " Hey there, Mr. Grumpy Gills. When life gets you down do you wanna know what you've gotta do?"


The good thing about actually living with your husband is that you get to have actual conversations with him. Like, talking ones. Like the one we had this morning.

I had crawled back into bed after sleeping on the couch all night since I couldn't keep still and didn't want to wake him. In a fun twist, I wasn't sleeping on the couch because we were fighting. (And yes, we totally cater to that silliness. Except, I always sleep on the couch, I never make him do it. Our first fight after moving in together when I took to the couch, he stubbornly sat cross legged on the floor by my head until I relented and joined him back in bed. Now, he's like, "see ya! Here's an extra pillow!") Anyway, I slipped into bed as he was showering and my head was groggy from perhaps too much wine with the ladies the night before and the lingering confusion over where I actually was...since we seem to sleep in a different city every night. I bundled up in bed and sleepily called out to him through the bathroom door: "WE'RE NOT FIGHTING! GOOD-MORNING!"

He came out, toweling off, thoroughly amused.

"I know we're not fighting. But, we could have been. If you kept up the Olympic craziness you were doing while I was trying to sleep."

(Me, still very, very groggy.) "I can't help that my hips are sparkly."

(Brett, snorting. Not groggy at all.) "Your hips are sparkly all right."

"I made you breakfast. I'm a good wife. Pasta and chicken from last night. And I think I stuck a loaf of french bread in the cupboard, because I am a very good wife and you love french bread."


"Melissa? I think you are still sleeping? And I think I'll pass on the chicken and pasta at 6am? And eat at the office?"

(Me, trying to whimper, but ending up in a half snore as I fall asleep again...or continue to sleep.) "But I made you breakfast. Because I am so proud of you.....and you look good in your suit."


"That's really sweet, honey. Ok, you get some rest. I'll see you tonight."

(Dozing.) "You don't like my glasses."


END SCENE.


It sounds silly, but I love these random interactions. Maybe they are not the most romantic conversations ever, but they remind me that Brett truly is my best friend, and he can listen to me mumble about french bread and my hipster glasses at 6am and be completely unperturbed. How many men are there out there like that?

Not many.

When I woke up I had a text from him with some lines from the movie "Finding Nemo." I giggled as I read through them, because I knew why he sent them to me. When people are pressed to define their partner based on a fictional character, Brett never says the obvious. I wish he would say Jo from "Little Women," or Elizabeth Bennet from "Pride and Prejudice," (helllllooooo. I so am, and HE IS SO DARCY. OHMYGOD HE IS DARCY HE IS DARCY HE IS DARCY. HE EVEN INSULTED ME WHEN WE FIRST MET. AND WE HATED EACH OTHER FOR A YEAR. OK, I'LL STOP WITH THE ALL CAPS.) But no, when pressed, Brett says I most remind him of Dory.

Yes, the flighty, forgetful, colorful fish from "Finding Nemo."

Sigh.

But, you know what? I'll take it. Just keep swimming and all of that. And isn't that a great message to come away with? Just keep swimming. No matter how rough the water, no matter how confusing the passage, no matter what lies ahead or behind. We can't know what is beyond that watery bend. But...just keep swimming.

So, I leaned back against the pillows, texted him back: "P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney." And started my swim through my day.

But, he really does hate my glasses. Just saying.