Whom Is To Say?

Last week I was forced to take it slow, stay in bed, and have lots of quiet time with Ahmed. While it's never fun to be on the DL, it's always a joy to have time with him. Perhaps that's why, when I saw a good friend and her sister this morning, I found myself heaving a sigh at a comment I hear far too often.

My BFF Roxy's sister repeated something I have probably heard a thousand times. "I just can't imagine how you two ended up together." She even expanded. "You make no sense as a couple. I just can't picture him with you." Interesting order there... HIM with YOU. She even let a few seconds pass before adding "no offense."

Hmm. K. If you say so.

I get it. Really. Last time I heard it was another sister-of-a-friend who was chitty chatting with me while I lay on the couch in the brownstone, Max shedding happily all over me, shrieking obscenities at the television. I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt with a cow saying "Milk, I am your father" to a gallon of milk, which is screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" back at the cow... and a baseball hat. Yeah, if the Sox are going to lose I wish they'd do it to somebody more impressive than Tampa Bay and in fewer than 12 freaking innings, because frankl--

*sigh* BREATH. K, where was I?

Right... what the hell is HE doing with ME?

Because he walked in looking devastating in his best suit, grabbed me by the chin, kissed me, and wandered off to change. So I can see her point. Elegant, cultured, brainy, and handsome... how did he end up with frumpy, butchy, snarky and... well, ME?

I don't know. I'm just glad he did.

And this morning, when Suzette made the same comment (second time in less than a week... I'm getting paranoid), I smirked and said "I get that a lot."

To which she replied "do you ever think that means something?" (She has social tourette's, I think... whatever.)

I stopped worrying about it a long time ago. I'm just as gobsmacked as the next guy or gal. Holy crap-- I GOT HIM! But as to whether I deserve him, belong with him, or any other nonsense... I don't wonder. We wouldn't work apart any more. I knew almost instantly. If I thought kicking him out of my life would be beneficial to him I'd try very hard to get that kind of courage.

It wouldn't. Sometimes it makes no sense to the rest of the world, and maybe that's precisely why it's none of their business... and why they do not get it and can't.

When I walk into my house I throw my jacket over the big, antique office chair at my desk. There are two perfectly good coat racks and plenty of closets. I use the chair. I toss my baseball cap-- whichever is on my head at the time-- onto the corner of my book case. It should go on the hat racks or coat rack hooks all over the place, but that's not where it goes... the jacket goes on the chair, and the cap goes on the book case. They belong there. They just do.

Ahmed throws himself together in the morning like he's in a wind tunnel or a bathroom-localized hurricane. Somehow, though, whether it may splatter on his shoes, pants, or belly, there's ONE spot he always manages to hit with the cologne. It's about an inch and a half below his ear and half an inch back... where his nape blends into the break of his shoulder. It always smells like amber, sandalwood, and grapefruit... and peace, and comfort. HIM.

That's my spot. It may not make sense to you, or anyone else, but it just IS. The instant I'm home I seek it out, place my face against it, and everything is ok. When the earth shifts underneath me... or makes me crazy... or scares the hell out of me... that's where I can hang on for dear life and just drift into a place of safety. In that little crook I am whole and sheltered and loved.

So I get it. But I got him. And he gets me. Just because. Sorry about the confusion. Sometimes life just makes no sense at all except when it makes perfect sense.