Loving Me

This is what it would be like to be in love with me.  You would marvel at the way my calf muscles flex in three different places.  The regular bulge in the back, and then the three long lean strips of muscle you can see when I stand on my heels, then the indent where that middle strip was, when I am on my toes, or in high heels.   

            You'd think my desire to walk everywhere was annoying at first, but when your calf muscles started to flex in three places and the belly you got from drinking too much in college disappeared, you would start to like walking with me.  You'd suggest extra long walks with my dog, and your dog so when they were at home together they would be too worn out to chew on each other's faces.  We'd walk to the grocery store and carry back cloth bags filled to the brim with fresh fruits and vegetables and milk made out of almonds.  We'd walk to the coffee shop on cold winter mornings and walk back keeping our hands warm on our ceramic mugs that we brought from home.   

            You would scold me for spending extra money on recycled toilet paper, and bio degradable plastic bags to pick up dog poop.  But then you'd realize how my face lit up when I read you the labels with all their environmental savyness. 

You'd love the part of my stomach that I hate, the lower flabby part that never looks like muscles and I can't make go away.  You'd tell me it was made just for you, a place to rest your head.  But you'd also tell me it's the perfect spot for a baby to grow.  And you'd mean it, but not right now.

            You'd start eating more vegetables, but you'd know to keep them separate from mine.  You'd know not to try to eat my broccoli because for some reason it is laced with spicy red pepper and it would burn your mouth for upwards of 15 minutes.  You'd eat hummus in strange new ways.  You'd eat it on sandwiches with green tomatoes and as a salad dressing, and you'd like it, a lot.  You'd start liking chili that didn't have meat in it.  Your cholesterol level would go way down.

            You'd wake up on weekday mornings to a fresh pot of gourmet coffee.  Organic and Fair Trade, and perfectly brewed.  You would no longer go to cheap coffee shops to buy coffee, because you'd always be disappointed that it did not taste as good as the coffee I made you at home.  You'd be amazed by my ability to tell the difference between decaf and regular just by smelling them.   You'd wonder how it is that I could wake up in the morning and drink coffee with you, and then take a nap an hour later. 

You'd get annoyed when I go through your garbage, picking out the things that could be recycled, and when I did it in public places, you'd yell at me to stop.  But then you'd start to learn not to put them there, to save me the trouble.  We'd still fight when we walked past public trash receptacles.

You'd start peeling Campbell's soup labels off of the cans and saving them for me, even though it was difficult sometimes and you didn't really know why you were doing it.  You'd find a new fondness for General Mills Cereals, preferring them to other brands.  You'd start cutting off the box tops, wishing that somehow you could collect the ten cents for each one, but resigning to just give them to me instead, to some school that would be able to benefit from your love of Cheerios.

You'd start to pull the tabs off of soda and beer cans and save them in a glass jar.  When it would get full you'd give it to me, and you'd feel good about it, even though we both don't know where those go after we give them to the Boyscouts.  

You'd change your homepage to Goodsearch.com.  And you would search random words and phrases in your spare time like the difference between "laid" and "lied," and why Styrofoam is cheaper to produce than paper.  You'd raise money for the Humane Society, and PAWS Atlanta, FurKids, and the American Red Cross.

You would love to watch me scream at the basketball players on TV, pretending I could control them with my words.  You'd love to watch football in the fall and baseball in the summer, and you would scream at those tiny players too.  You'd appreciate my indifference to your sports because it meant I didn't mind getting up to get you something with one minute left in the fourth quarter.  After a while I'd start routing for your team, even when we weren't together.  I'd start hating the Yankees, the Lakers and UGA. 

            You would love to run your fingers through my hair, even if it got stuck in a knot sometimes.  You would wonder how I could possibly make it so straight one day, and so curly the next.  You'd say it looked wonderful, even in the morning, during its in-between time.  You'd always be carefully moving my hair out of my face, so you could see me better, so my hair would not be stuck between our lips.  And you'd smooth my hair off my shoulders so you could see the bones and muscles there, and all those freckles and crisscrossing tan lines that won't ever go away.

            You would love my hair when it was long, but you'd love it still when I cut off the ten inches to donate to Locks O' Love.  You'd say you love my natural color of some boring brown even though I am pretty sure you've never seen it more than an inch at my roots, and you'd hate the smell the dye left in the bathroom and in my hair the next day.  But you'd love my new color, whatever it may be.  You'd love my hair when it was blonde, and slightly reddish.  You'd say I was the hottest red head you know.  You'd love my hair when it was so dark brown it was almost black because it makes my eyes look unnaturally blue, and you'd love it when it was bleached blonde and then hot pink.  You'd love it anyway I did, because you would love me.  But you don't.