Are you the loser in your marriage, or are you the finder? I happen to be the loser, and have always been the loser. My husband Hugh hasn’t so much as lost a stray crumb to the counter, or left a sock on the floor in 18 years of marriage. I, on the other hand, have lost both of the key fobs to our new car and now we can’t drive it. This morning Hugh planned to take the car for a tuneup in Vancouver, but instead we spent the morning together looking for keys.
He could choose to see me as a thoughtless loser who still hasn’t gotten it together, or decide he’s no longer attracted to me, or rant and rave about the time he wasted today, or ask me the question of how hard can it be to simply put the keys in the drawer when I come home. But he does none of these things. He simply calls the car place, cancels the tuneup, and asks our youngest girl if she’d like to go on a daddy-daughter date to the Pancake House in the van.
And then he sends me a text from the Pancake House thanking me “for such a valiant search for the keys this morning,” adding, “no worries. I’m sure the keys will show up in a day or two.”
I guess you could say I’m both a loser and a finder because I somehow found a guy who sees in me my formless intrinsic beauty and worth instead of subscribing who I am to the temporal and fleeting faux-pas of everyday life.
(And please, any well-wishes on finding our keys are welcome!)