Hi, my name is Lorenia, and my husband is an addict.
I don’t use the term “addict” lightly — just to make sure you are fully aware of his addiction and will support me when I find the help he needs, let me tell you what happened yesterday…
Our phones occasionally do not register phone calls. I don’t know what it is on George’s phone, but on mine, it happens sometimes when I switch from 3G to WiFi. It’s like my phone just becomes a tiny computer and loses its ability to text or make/receive calls. Yesterday, George was on his way home from work and tried calling me a few times. My phone had been on WiFi, so obviously, no call went through. To him, it appeared that he was calling and it just rang and rang and went straight to voicemail. He knew something must be wrong, because even when I’m mad at him (which I never am, because I am the most patient, even-tempered, kind and sensible woman ever, RIGHT?) I always, always answer (and never with a “Harumph” or a “Yeah, WHAT?” or anything like that, I am sweetness personified, shut uppppp). He began to picture coming home, finding me laying on the floor unconscious, with no pulse, and was brainstorming what to do. Should he carry me to the car and race to the hospital? Should he call the ambulance and wait for them to show up while he embraced me and attempted to resuscitate me? Should he sell the house and get rid of all our shared memories because the pain of remaining here would be too much to bear? (Yes, he actually had these thoughts run through his head. Yes, he actually said as much to me. Think about THAT next time you assume I am the drama queen here.)
Instead of calling a neighbor to have them come over and check I was OK/find my lifeless body being nibbled on by kittens, what did my loving husband do?
I’ll tell you what he did, Internet. He composed, in his head, the tweet he might post for all of you to read in the case of my untimely demise… in 140 characters or less.
“Dear Friends, my beloved wife Lorenia has passed on to the next world. Please, for the love of God, pray for the progress of her soul.”
This is how I know I’m married to a Twitter addict. Let’s find him some help.
Editor’s note: While this post makes him seem kind of silly, that’s obviously because it’s SUPPOSED TO DO SO. I swear George is quite literally a Rocket Scientist.
July 1, 2011 11 Comments
When I was a little girl, my parents used to fight a lot. I mean, a lot. Screaming matches that would end in tears and with my dad frequently yelling at my mom, “What do you expect, for me to read you mind or something?!” coupled with an exasperated expletive. I would hide out in my room waiting for the storm to pass, hugging my pillow and pray to God that one day I would find a boy who would read my mind so I would never have to fight with someone quite like that.
The years passed, and with them, a doomed relationship here and there. Some fighting. Even some screaming matches. Not surprisingly, some of those arguments would end with, “What do you expect, for me to read you mind or something?!” coupled with an exasperated expletive. Of course. And in my mind, I would say, “Yes, yes, that is exactly what I want.”
Be careful what you wish for…
It is at times eerie how completely George and I read each others’ minds. We can be sitting in the middle of a group of people and have a conversation. He knows the exact moment of the day when I am praying. We more than finish each others’ sentences: we say the same exact thing at the same exact time nearly 50% of the time. We have called people out of the blue at the same time in the past. We think of someone at the same second in the day on their birthday and wish them a good one. He always knows what to say and what not to say and how to deal with anything that comes our way. When something difficult comes up, we’re always automatically just present in one way or another. It’s almost as if we’re one person. I am grateful every day to share this bond, this connection, and this love with someone so amazing.
And… I think I might just like this being married business.
P.S. As George read this and commented “Claro!” (of course in Spanish) I, in another part of the house entirely and before receiving the message texted him saying “Of course!”. OF COURSE!
April 20, 2009 3 Comments