Everyday Romance

Summer, 2008, at a house party. Both of us more than a little tipsy.

Drinking tea together that we collected during our travels.

Daydreaming about which room we should put a second AC unit in, but secretly enjoying nights of laying around in our underwear in front of the fan complaining about how hot it is.

Watching shows with me like Counting On or Call the Midwife, even though they are the last things he’d choose for himself. Likewise when he gets me to watch Paranormal Alien Investigation Cover-Up Conspiracy Cops, or whatever it is.

Calmly accepting that I refuse to use weedkiller in the garden, even though it means a lot more work for both of us.

Never getting mad when I let the dogs have a tiny taste of every food I eat, even if it’s expensive caviar or sashimi or something.

Adhering to his silly rules about sock pairing – they are all grey and exactly the same except for a tiny strip on the toe that can be red, blue or green, which nobody would ever see, but apparently it makes all the difference.

Scratching each other’s backs at the exact spot that we can’t reach ourselves.

Putting up with (and ultimately enjoying, even if he won’t admit it) the way I like to do Christmas.

Eating sour warheads because it amuses him so much to watch the faces I pull.

Kitchen hugs, couch hugs, car hugs, garden hugs, bed hugs, just got out of the shower and only wearing a towel hugs.

Watching him play with the darling dogs and always wanting them to live their best lives.

No judgment from either of us if it turns into a tortilla-chips-and-salsa-for-dinner kind of night. No judgment from him on my coke zero addiction either.

Reading through the cards and letters he’s given me over the years – he says he’s not a writer, but those are some of the sweetest things I’ve ever read.

Speculating on ridiculous hypotheticals, like what names we would pick if we had quadruplets, or how much money we could make if we started a truffle farm, or what airline a publisher would make me fly if I went on a book tour.

Patiently teaching him things to say in Chinese for our next big trip, knowing that he’ll probably forget them by tomorrow.

Hunting down my favourite milk-flavoured bun from BreadTop and bringing it home on a plane, all the way from Sydney.

lucky seven

About a week ago, I asked Nathan what I should write about on this blog. “Tell everybody how wonderful I am,” was his response. So in honour of our seventh anniversary (yikes – how am I old enough to be having a seventh anniversary?), here’s a little something for my main man. 379797_614717002222_196844120_n Dear Nathan,

I can’t believe it’s been seven years. I don’t know about you, but I feel worlds away from the people we were when we started going out. We’ve both changed and grown over the years, but it feels like whatever we are made from has woven together somehow. I hope this doesn’t mean we’ll end up one of those old couples that say things like, “we prefer coffee with no milk” or “we don’t like summertime”, but if it means that we’ll continue being able to read each others’ minds and finish sentences, I’m fine with that.

I’m grateful every day for how much you make me laugh, even when the whole world is grey. Whenever I am down, you try so hard to pick me up again. I even secretly love when you say stupid catchphrases from movies over and over. I’m also grateful to see how much you love those puppies. It speaks so highly of a person when they have enough heart to share with a helpless animal, and you really love these guys. I love our random adventures, like deciding at 8:30pm that we just need to have sticky date pudding, so why not go to the late session at the gold class cinema. I love that you let me have the entire wardrobe in the spare room for my dress addiction. I love how sometimes we have such huge plans for the weekend, but end up watching Masterchef in our pajamas and scoffing nachos. I love how much you have charmed all my aunties, so much that they call you “our Nathan”. I love that whenever one of my favourite songs come on the radio just before we get home, you will drive around the block until it’s over.

It’s not always perfect, neither of us are perfect, but you’re perfect for me!

Love from your Duckmonster/Cicciolina/Chicken/Darlingface/Bugalugs