I am married to the best man ever. Dating was tedious, marriage was different. You know how they say men change after you marry them? Mine changed, for the better. Six years down the line he wakes me up with a glass of water, freshly pressed juice, or coffee if we drank too much last night. He always has to get to work earlier than me, lucky me; luckier me, he wakes up before me and gets the kids to wake up with kisses on their heads. Then I take over, while he flips open his MacBook and does a little bit of something, then he goes jogging, he gets back, he showers, with me sometimes, l love to scrub his back, he loves to leave me with a taste of what I’ll get when he gets back from work, after all, he’s running late for his meeting that morning. Scratch that sometimes he lets the meetings start without him, only time he’s ever that rude to his staff is with the intention to pin me against the wet tiles while stifling my moan.
He comes back to me every evening after work with a little something. Could be a gift, flower, gist, gossip, his worries, and I give him a yummy meal and a leg rub. Some days we defy doctor’s orders and I stand on his back, his best type of massage. Sometimes we binge watch out favorite series and sometimes we just talk and talk and sleep off, with me still talking of course. I like to tell myself I’m his favorite background noise and his snore is my favorite lullaby. We go through the same routine, except church days, and definitely Thursdays and Fridays. He likes to have his time with the boys, but more with me. We hit the town in either my sneakers or 6-inch heels. Depends if I’m going for sexy or street dancer. He lets me be me, unconditionally. He never tries to control my social attitude, good thing is I have a good head on my shoulders (lucky him?). We have fun all evening and night and morning long. Then we sneak into the house like irresponsible teenagers while giggling and shushing each other, and grandma on duty/ babysitter shooting us disapproving but adoring stares. Then we go on to have crazy sex. Drunk sex? Pffftttt. Underrated.
I hate it when he goes out of town. Or country who cares. I dread every time I have to wake up alone on the bed. You’ll think all these years of jobs that require absconding from my warm embrace would be no big deal. I shed one or two tears as he walks away to the terminal, and I proceed to behave like an angry nun on her period for the next number of days required. But never around our lovely kids. They have his nose and eyes. Thank God not his ears!! They make me so mushy, these products of this blessed union. They make my heart stretch and crack, the way ice does when it contracts. Phew.
Twelve years down the line I love how he consults me in every move he makes with our money. Mostly because I’m the smartest woman he knows, and also because he likes me being his springboard for ideas. I love when he listens to me like I’m the voice of reason that can change the fate of the seven planets. Nine? The more the better. I still love it when he kisses my back, or bites, bruv can be a savage. I still get shivers when he looks at me across the room, talking to some equally powerful human about some deal to turn the country around. I still feel my eyes ice over when I catch him smiling at some twat in a bodycon dress and desperate perfume. Better slap her across the face before I come over to do it. But even better, he slashes her heart by telling her I’m the best thing to ever happen to him and he can never hurt me.
I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Sure he’s lucky. I guess we’re both lucky. Because many people search for so many years but never find what they search, but we found it, in the unlikeliest manner, and 30 years down the line, he still makes me grab the sheets when he nibs at my chest and makes sweet love to my soul.