Monday, August 27, 2007

Don't go for second best, baby

Don't you dream of lavish expressions of undying love and wish your special someone would desire you to the point of adoration?

I do, sometimes. It's because I get caught up in moments that I am in awe of the fortune bestowed upon me that I have this person who loves me and that I've found him early (enough) in life. And I tell him countless times that I'm happy we're together in words that could challenge the cheesiest heart-shaped Hallmark valentine card.

Once the orchestra decrescendoes the romantic score, he'd smile and give a quick "me, too" and start asking me if my car's due for another preventive maintenance check at the service center. The music zips.

It's not that he's not demonstrative (batchmates voted us the PDA-est couple when we graduated from college), but I guess he's just not up to playing Romeo every single time that I bring out my inner Juliet. I've gotten used to his secret acronym codes that he replies to me over the phone even if there's no one within earshot to eavesdrop on our conversations. His idea of romance nowadays is telling me to wear my seatbelt or to stop using the cellphone when I'm driving. He hates it when I rant about my bad day, and will not make an effort to hide it. He is especially clueless when I complain about my weight or my looks, and knows he will be damned if he gives any answer or none at all. On any given day these small things are argued about, and then forgotten -- until the next time it happens.

It's so much of a joy for me to tell him how important he is to me that I feel a bit disappointed when it seems like I'm the only one delivering the cheese. I've dedicated songs to him on stage, I volunteer to pay for dinner or meet him near his place on weeknight dates and drive him home after, I kidnap him for a surprise out of town trip on a whim. Sometimes I feel like Betty waiting for Archie to see me the way he sees Veronica. Worse, I even wonder if he's seeing a Veronica out there...

But I guess when he does the little things, he shows me that he thinks of me everyday -- when he reminds me to gas up before the fuel sign blinks, or when he shuns spontaneity and embraces the routine so we could mark our schedule for QT with our respective families. Even if he'd rather not listen to choral music, he has watched every major concert I've performed in, but I have yet to join any of his airsoft games. And he does his share of taking the bus or the MRT on some of those weeknight dates and risks commuting home late just so we don't lose time in traffic. And he receives my meek "sorry"s without the 3-hour melodrama.

Madonna hit it right on the nail when she sang, "satin sheets are very romantic; what happens when you're not in bed?" -- paminsan-minsan talagang may mapupulot tayo sa kanya other than cone lingerie.

I'm not a fan of tough love just yet; it's too early for that when you're in your twenties and there aren't any kids or conjugal property to fuss about. But I'm all for everyday, ordinary, acronym-coded love if it means it will stay forever.

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