Me. Let’s face it: That’s my favorite subject. I mean, after two years of blogging, other topics have risen and fallen from my fumbling fingertips, but I’ve always found me on the tip of my tongue—so to speak.
If the pen is mightier than the sword, I have scribbled myself shielded from the most adept swordplay. Oh, not by word quality. Please, words more than one syllable I have to look it up. I have fortified myself in tome-tombs of infinite Rob words.
En garde!
I am my greatest fan. I buy me drinks and dinner. I listen to my phone calls. I stalk me wherever I go. I look in the mirror just to see me. Yup. It’s creepy: the extent I’ll go to get my attention.
Why? Well I could go into some long insecurity story about evil parents and a sordid childhood involving wire coat hangers, a car battery, and a ferret, but the truth is, that’s not my story. I had a good childhood. Oh, I do have my scars, but let’s face it, who doesn’t have scars from their youth? I’m just like everybody else. I just love me more.
I grew up in two divorced households, with two loving parents who had polar different theories in child rearing. This made me a little bi-polar, but only in a white fuzzy butt bear kinda way. I now sit on my own iceberg of idiosyncrasies. I’m grumbly and cute. Look ma, no opposable thumbs, and padded paws. I’m Robby Ruxpin.
That’s one of the things we all check for going into a relationship: What are the other person’s idiosyncrasies, and can we deal with them? Can they deal with ours, without slamming the door and stomping off? That’s how I lost the opposable thumbs to the opposing party. That’s one of the reasons I like the guy in the mirror: no matter what I do, he’s always there. He’ll love me for my nubby self.
Divorce made me question other’s ability to do the same. That, coupled with my own stuffed bear of issues, makes me a little leery about people and staying. Some people deal with that differently. Some get clingy, smothering in reasons why you shouldn’t leave, others kick and scream to the ledge waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Me, I figure it’s best to be the me I love, and if somebody else understands that, then great. I have my good, and I have my bad, and I know that somebody will appreciate that the way they appreciate their morning coffee.
“Well this cup is a little bitter, and the aroma is…well, interesting.”
This week, the Pirate Queen’s stuff arrived from far away shores. I’d helped her move this far, I figured I’d see it through to her stuff getting shored up too. So, while she went to work, I waited.
I arrived Monday night, so that when her “relo-cube” o’ joy arrived Tuesday morning, somebody would be waiting to receive it.
Remember I mentioned my idiosyncrasies? One of them is waiting. I suck at it. Despite my deep love of Rob, I don’t even wait well for him. So when it comes to waiting for somebody else, I might as well be Steve Erkle, cuz it’s not gonna go well.
The Pirate Queen and I are very similar, very business, very go, go. We function best when things are moving. Monday I arrived in the late afternoon to the Pirate Queen’s place. I figured I could use her gym facilities, shower and then she’d be home.
The Pirate Queen’s new job takes up her Rob time. By the time she got home, I’d worked out, showered, and nearly finished a book. I’m a slow reader. I’d love to have done something else, but you see her stuff was still somewhere on the road in her relo-cube o’ joy. Her apartment consists of one cat, one box of granola bars, two plastic cups, and a Coleman inflatable mattress. I’m a MacGyver of many wonders but I couldn’t make two cups and a cat do anything entertaining. If only I’d had a bottle of Nair…
So I waited. When she finally got home we ate and slept. The next morning we got up early. She went to work. I waited. The cube was supposed to arrive as early as 11:30. I had some time to finish my book. I ate a granola bar, and drank some water. This was fun at first, but I was filled up before 9:00. I concentrated on my favorite subject for a bit, but I was getting bored with me. These were desperate times!
At 11:30, I found out the cube wouldn’t be here until 12:30. At 12:30 I found out the cube wouldn’t be here till 1:30. At 1:30 I just accepted that it would get here when it got here. That happened at 3:30.
The movers were supposed to arrive at 4:30. Let’s just say that the Pirate Queen finished pillaging around 5:00 and had come home and we’d eaten before they got here.
That was a long day of staring at walls. For most people it’s maddening. For me, it’s one of my childhood issues. It’s like locking Yogi Bear in a room, and leaving 1,000 picnic baskets behind a glass wall he can’t get past. Yeah, the gibbering bear at the end of the day was played by Rob.
What’s more, I didn’t even do it for my favorite person. I did it for somebody else. What’s wrong with me? I was grumbly all Tuesday night. I wasn’t mad at the PQ, I was mad at the waste of my time. The things I could have done other than strapping cups to the side of her cat’s head and teaching it to say, “Help me Robbi-Wan, you’re my only hope.”
So this morning I got up, ready to return to my home, my life, my things, my obsession. Before leaving the Queen’s new home, I checked my email. I found one that said:
I don't tell you enough how truly amazing I think you are. You have been more than a great help and that means more to me than you can ever know. I'm happy I moved here and I'm so happy I'm with you.
Unlike the other emails like this in my box this one wasn’t from me. This one was from the Queen. In fewer words than I’ve used to fortify one blog, she’d broken in to remind me why I spent a day doing my least favorite thing.
It wasn’t because of all the wonderful Rob praise. The Pirate Queen doesn’t say these things frequently. I have to horde them when I get them. It’s something that comes difficult for her. Still she’d done it for me, because she knew my favorite person and wanted to show her approval. It wasn’t easy.
It was sweet, but she did make a mistake. Rob’s not my favorite person anymore. She is.
That’s what I’ve been waiting for.
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