In the past... my interests had a wingspan that dwarf that of an albatross. That's right, an ALBATROSS! Travel, politics, art, books, interesting films, social justice, knowing indie bands that are so indie that only me and their creepy friends have heard of them.
So, I have gone from my albatross-like pretentiousness... to that of a... what is this fancy creature featured to the right? Yes, that's right... it's a lovebird.
[Insert collective groan.]
Indeed, I'm taking my pretentiousness in a new direction. A direction entitled: "I'm In Love, Therefore Everybody Else Must Be Very Interested In What That Looks Like."
The Mister and I are both very interesting people... just ask either of us. Both of us are often asked to tell funny and/or stories by way of oral tradition and/or the pen. Thus, both of us have a certain threshold for self-editing. However, the general arcs of our story end up with a reference to how awesome, amazing, intelligent, funny, or spectacular the other person is. But you know what the funny thing is? That's not actually why I'm in love with this guy, and that's not actually why people fall in love.
Why DO people fall in love?
BECAUSE OF STAIRS!!!No... that's a lie, I actually just wanted to sound like I had an authoritative take on what love is and how people attain it. Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. But lately, I've realized that stairs ended up being a huge reason for my admiration of Mister.
Stairs are my downfall... haha... but no... seriously. First of all, at least 70% of my physical activity results in awkward movements that I've been trying to hide since my 5th grade growth spurt. My kinesthetic intelligence is well below average, which is something that I've hidden quite well for many years. However, the Mister and I went up many flights of stairs in the obnoxiously walk-happy city of Seoul. After awhile... I gave up on trying to be graceful and self-aware... it just ends up being too much work when you're around somebody 24-7. That's when I started showing that below average kinesthetic intelligence by tripping, sliding, dropping, spilling, and generally looking like a bufoon.
So... love is when he patiently picks up my towers of falling papers... inspects my recently dropped laptop for damage... gently helps me up from the flat sidewalk I've tripped on... gets me a napkin for my spilled coffee... smirks in acknowledgment of the elements of physical comedy presented by my blunder and finally offers a tender gesture to dignify and even find something likeable about the awkwardness I've tried so desperately to hide.
[Insert collective groan.]
End.
No comments:
Post a Comment