My boyfriend and I are celebrating our third anniversary in a couple of weeks, and it amazes me how lucky I am to have found him. We’re the couple that would never normally work out, but here we are, growing old(er) together.
Max is my first boyfriend. Before him, I was in a few lesbian relationships. I think I’ve always been bisexual; it’s just that Max is the first straight man to hold my interest. Most boys are too presko; they think preening and pick-up lines work, or that if they say something forcefully enough, it will make it more true.
Max was different in that…well, hmm…
He isn’t so different. Max has his own store of pick-up lines as well as wingman moves, and he’s opinionated like nobody’s business. He preens longer than I do, and is consequently much more attractive. But when he looks at me his face is happy, and though he admits I am a work-in-progress, he accepts me for the bundle of insecurities and quirks that I am. I would like to think my quirks make me endearing, and that he’s equally lucky to have me, but as we’re both biased in my favor, I guess I’ll never know.
I’m not sure either how he manages to fit into my circle. My friends share more chemistry with me; they are the people I call when I plan costumes for Halloween or when I want to re-enact scenes from Avenue Q. Max, on the other hand, will sit for hours in a coffee shop and has been known to sleep for several days, waking only to snack or pee. My friends and I all have liberal arts backgrounds, while he makes complicated charts. We are linguistically intelligent, can spin a story and dabble in poetry; he speaks three languages, but can’t spell. He’s also well-read, but doesn’t like any of my favorite authors.
But if there’s anything my life with Max has taught me, it’s that you can’t trust chemistry. Someone like me shouldn’t date someone like me. For one thing, we’d try to cook everything with the microwave. Instead, I have someone who keeps me grounded when I’m too flighty, and into whose well-ordered life I throw a little chaos. Max is my anchor. I wasn’t sure I could commit until I realized he was the one I wanted to wake up with every morning, and now I know that having a home is the difference between being “free” and being “lost”.
Happy anniversary, darling.
Mid-life Musings 