Wednesday, July 11, 2012
When we got married, Paul promised to love, honor and cherish me. In the last 12 years he has done so and much more. He has supported me, encourage me, helped me, and taken care of me in ways I never expected. Above all, he has put up with my temper, humor, idiosyncrasies. I have also made him promise to let me die first. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, after all. The man does not die and leave his wife alone to fend for herself. My grandfather outlived my grandmother for that exact reason. They met in the first grade and were married for more years than most people live. They were polar opposites and complemented each other very well. Much like Paul and me. If he died first, I would be living in a shack with no water or electricity and no way to feed myself. He is more domestic, which ain't saying much. He fixes everything around the house, cars, yard, etc. When there is a problem at school, he knows how to speak to the powers that be. I just get mad, froth at the mouth and issue insane threats. He sees the problem and fixes it. To show my love and adoration of this man, I have sworn that I will haunt him from the grave. Just so he won't get too lonely without me. But in a nice, sweet, Lifetime movie kind of way. Not a creepy, evil souls sucking his life force from him kind of way. When I suggested we do the whole Eva and Juan Peron mourning, he got squeamish. I guess he won't be laying out my embalmed body out in the dining room while making his new wife (chosen by me, of course) comb my hair and absorb my essence. Party pooper. I was kind of hoping to spook the next Mrs. Velasco. Guess I will have to settle for haunting, spying on and spooking him. So you don't feel too sorry for my husband, you should know that he has more life insurance on me than Dolly Parton has on her chest.