The Elvis Christmas Miracle

Let me start this entry off with a brief summary of my marriage. My husband and I are polar opposites. There are few things we have in common. Old TV shows, maybe a couple of views here and there and a shared love of farts. Our best man, before resorting to a Rodney Dangerfield toast at our wedding even said “You would never know it, but there are no two people on earth more alike than these two. It’s disgusting and I won’t go any further. Just trust me.”  The fart thing. It’s common knowledge.

Anyway, when you somehow marry your polar opposite you tend to bump heads. A lot. And really, we don’t. I don’t know if thats just collective dysfunction or settling into a routine. But we are kind of a peaceful couple. Sure, we have issues with certain things. And a few years ago, we hated each other. Truly and deeply hated each other. For quite a long time it seemed like there was no going back. And there wasn’t. Because our start wasn’t very promising. We kind of took marriage and each other pretty lightly. Then baggage set in. And life set in. Then the hate set in.

Some of our differences accumulated after years worth of flowing life. Kind of like how the Grand Canyon was formed. He isn’t openly affectionate or articulate. He hates body heat. He doesn’t make great conversation all of the time. I am extremely affectionate. I love me some body heat. I love to talk. Over the years, obviously this situation really doesn’t bode well, does it? Our music tastes are different. I like a bit of everything and he doesn’t. Our food choices. I like a bit of everything, and he likes…..nothing.

You get the drift. But with some give and take, a lot of tears, some counseling and a bit of drama, we started all over again, from the ground up. Pleasant things happened after that. Our son. Our friendship. In many ways, our real life. Now we have a son with special needs, unemployment, a family death, and a lot of uphill battles. But somehow we are mostly pretty Zen about it. I think it’s the partnership and the trial and error. Or the Prozac and beer. Some mysteries in life are best left a mystery.

So what makes me post such a pleasantry out of nowhere? Well, today we had a moment right out of a ridiculous romantic comedy that I don’t watch. But wait. “If you don’t watch them, how do you know what romantic comedies entail?” you ask. You caught me. I have seen one or two. But not all. So there.

We are cleaning up the boy’s playroom for his therapy appointment and I am messy, stinky and gross. I have a cold that won’t go away. I am holding a screw driver and make my way across the living room into the kitchen to check one of the boys toys to see what batteries they need. The husband puts on an Elvis Christmas CD. His favorite song comes on and he grabs me quickly and we slow dance in kitchen. I think for sure this is just a quick thing, but it isn’t. He is determined to see this dance through. He in his underwear, because he is always in his underwear. Me, with my hair sticking up every where. An oversized sweatshirt. Boogers as far as the eyes can see.

I admit at first I felt a twinge of shock, and almost discomfort. But then a nice easy feeling settled in and soon enough I felt confident that this was a genuine moment. I tried not to think to too much but of course my mind was racing. I knew I would write about it, of course. I am not going to tell you I exhaled. Give me a break. But I was holding a screwdriver the whole time to his back and I didn’t want to stab him. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel a fleeting second of murderous wifey rage. I could have done it too. I was home sick for two days and watched a ton of CSI. I would have gotten away with it. He who hates body heat so much he walks around practically nude actually allowed skin to skin contact for the whole duration of an Elvis tune. Who knew?

I thought twice about sharing this lovely and genuine moment with everyone. But then I thought I would thank the universe for allowing the moment to happen to begin with. Also, I don’t always get a ton of bragging rights either. So this is my way of sharing Mr. Bebe with everyone.

Is there anything Elvis can’t do? It’s a Christmas Miracle.



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