Women in Comfortable Shoes

[Previous entry: "Justification is Music to My Ears"] [Main Index] [Next entry: "New Car Hubris"]

08/06/2003: "True Love"

I'm a chicken.

I admit it and I'm not ashamed of it. Because of horrid childhood experiences at the hands of a ham-fisted, so-called pediatric dentist, I have to be sedated for anything more than routine cleaning and X-rays.

Yesterday was one such visit. I took a magic blue pill an hour before arriving at the dentist's office and by the time we got there, I was as loopy as spring robin loaded up on fermented chinaberries. By the time I sat down in the chair, I was out cold. I didn't wake up again until later that afternoon and then again around 10 p.m. or so. Even then, I have only fuzzy memories of both times.

This blue pill not only knocks you out, it turns your brain upside down and shakes it to erase all your short-term memories. I remember nothing about yesterday. Absolutely zero. Normally, that kind of memory loss would be extremely frightening to someone who hates even getting a little tipsy for fear of losing control. However, in this case, I have no worries. The person looking after me whenever something like this happens is someone I trust implicitly.

In fact, we'll celebrate 12 years of our being together this month. In my opinion, a mark of a good relationship is not keeping track of how much time has passed. Rather, it's marveling how the years have flown by. It always takes me a couple of minutes to count the years, because I cannot (or don't want to) think of a time when Mel wasn't in my life.

I suppose I was hungry when I woke up the first time. I hadn't eaten anything since the night before. But today, as I was trying to remember what I had eaten, Mel reminded me. "You don't remember that fabulous strawberry and banana smoothie I made you?"

"No, I don't," I replied, frantically searching the blank spaces in my mind.

"You said it was fabulous; that it was the best you'd ever had," she said.

And I'm absolutely sure it was. How do I know she made me a smoothie? Mel does not lie. Plus, I know there were three bananas in the basket on Monday. Now there are two.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mel would sooner have a poke in the eye with a short stick than even look at a banana. The sight, smell, touch, and taste of bananas makes her gag instantly. That she would even think of making me a strawberry-banana smoothie is an awesome display of devotion.

That, my friends, is true love. I just wish I could remember it.