Warning. This is a lazy post. I’m overwhelmed with shit right now and haven’t had time to write something even remotely entertaining. However, I WILL! I WILL PREVAIL!
Sometimes when I’m feeling depressed or overwhelmed I’ll go through my old photos or my “memory” box to cheer me up. In doing that this morning I found a ticket to a Flamenco show that my husband took me to in 2010. When I first started dating him, and this is exactly why I fell in love with him, he wasn’t like anyone I’d ever dated before. He planned things, he surprsed me with things, he always knew where we were going to dinner, or for drinks and it was always exciting. He was also ridiculously romantic. I mean, make me throw up in my mouth, romantic. He’d come over and cook dinner, sing to me and dance with me in the kitchen. One time after I became angry with him he even tried to serenade me in the piazza under my house. Though, I’m not great with things that draw attention to me so instead of being impressed I screamed, “Oh god no,” and I ran away. It’s funny how that works, how you get smothered with attention when you don’t need it, but when you do it’s no longer available. Life is kind of a dick in that way. Right? Anyhow, I remember he’d booked a night in a really fancy hotel in Gaeta for us, and upon returning to Florence we rushed to the theatre for the Flamenco show.
A month later he took me to Sicily for a week where he proposed for probably the third time since we’d been dating on a cliff overlooking the sea. German tourists watched and clapped while I ran away. Now, he’s Italian, and I’m not as dumb as I look, so it’s possible that he didn’t mean any of it back then and he was most likely sleeping with half of Europe at the same time. Still, the point is, it was sweet.
Later that night I started my period and thought I was dying. He ran to the Farmacia (pharmacy) and bought pain killers, juice, and a thermometer (because apparently he’d never known a women who had a period before?). I fell asleep and woke up to a candle-lit dinner in the corner of our room that he had put together while I slept.
I have a lot of memories of him like this. He won’t be happy that I’m writing this because he prefers that his friends think he’s a piece of shit, and would hate for them to know that sometimes he’s a decent guy. Seriously. I’ll never understand men. He also used to write me poetry. POETRY. So, take that, guys.
So, this is me reminding myself of why I fell in love with him. Even if he is the biggest pain in my ass ever and sometimes I think about sticking forks in his eyes while he sleeps. He was worth falling for.
ps. hint, hint, I would like dinner delivered to bed more often. Obviously.