SIX MONTHS WITH MY BEST FRIEND

Back when I was a little kid I asked my mom why she married my father. I just wanted to know how she knew that he was the right person for her. She told me it was easy and I am going to quote her advice verbatim. “You figure out who your best friend is and you marry them.”

At the time, I thought she was nuts. Marry your best friend? Too young to really understand the intricacies of relationships, I wondered how I could marry Lea when everyone knew marriage was between boys and girls. Besides, Lea had a crush on Peter Hanson (really, who didn’t?) and did not seem like she would want to marry me.

Time passed and I grew up and started dating. Not unlike many other high school girls, I thought that every boyfriend was “the one” and break-ups were devastating. I remember a general refrain to my girlfriends was always along the lines of “Boyfriend said/did something horrible. I can’t talk to him about it. What should I do?” Then I would pretty much follow their advice blindly.

Even in college and after graduation, I had boyfriends and best friends but they were never the same people. There was always a part of myself I hid from the boyfriend, convinced that if he knew the real me, he would reject me. I have ex-boyfriends who would tell you that I love air travel or that I think Led Zepplin is the best band ever, while any of my friends would tell you that I can’t fly without drugs and I would rather poke my eardrums out with a retractable pencil than listen to Led Zepplin.

But then, by chance and while I was not even looking, I met Husband at a barbeque in July 2003. For our first meeting, there was something about him that incentivized me to be myself. (Note: I do not believe “incentivized” is a real word nor do I think you can just add “ize” and make something a verb, but Husband insists this is a word so in tribute to him, I am using it in this post). I changed the channel when he played Led Zepplin or Phish (two bands he loves) and grabbed his arm in terror when we had to fly somewhere.

Today is our six month anniversary and, if possible, I love him more today than I did on the day we married. Yesterday is a perfect example. As readers of the blog already know (just scroll down one entry), Husband and I take an annual trip to Bear Mountain and go hiking. This year was the best one ever. We went managed to find the trail and hike up and back without getting lost, laughing the whole way. The pictures (to be posted this week) came out perfect and afterwards, we continued our tradition with a coffee and cookie at Starbucks before grocery shopping at the Tarrytown Shop & Stop. We still had some time to kill so we walked around the Tarrytown Center and drove through the area looking at houses and imagining our lives if we lived there. Then we had dinner and headed home.

The thing is, the day was easy. No pretense and no trying to impress each other. Husband blocked me from view on the mountain as I peed behind a bush and I took pictures (later deleted) when he tried to do the same. We giggled in the restaurant parking lot as we tried to change out of our hiking clothes and into restaurant appropriate clothing in the car and spent a good deal of time at dinner discussing whose farts would smell worse that night. You know, the kind of things you can only do with your best friend.

So to Mother, thanks for the advice. And to Husband, thanks for making the last six months better than any others before it.