The powers that be asked bloggers to post about Freedom to Marry Week. There are eloquently stated reasons all over the web–this will not be one of them. Bear with me for a short story, please.
…
As I kiss my girlfriend goodbye, I only have the work week on my mind. So does she. I’m guessing all of America does unless you’re working at Freedom to Marry Headquarters this week. NPR is depressing because it’s all about the economy, and even my favorite radio station is killing me with it’s commercial break.
Then it happens.
I get hit from behind while sitting at a stop light.
Yes…my faithful lawnmower…the Miata has been hit…from behind.
If you’ve never been hit from behind, it’s quite a surprising experience. You’re sitting there minding your own business and WHAM you get the sh*t jarred out of you. Turns out, I got hit by one of the many jerks driving around Philly. No “Sorry” no “Hey, are you hurt?”
Just “Is this gonna take long?”
I think you just answered that question yourself buster…
Luckily Conshohocken’s finest just happened to be patrolling by so we got a nice police escort to a parking lot where he complained to the officer that he needed to be somewhere else at that very moment. After no pleasantries and detailed insurance info was exchanged, the cop looked at me and asked…”You OK?”
“Yeah…jsut not the Monday I had been planning on.”
“I hear ya. Here’s my badge and number if you have any questions.”
…
Now…I might have acted all cool and collected with Mr. Not-so-nice guy. I might have told the nice officer that I was OK…but the fact of the matter was that I was shaking from getting hit from nowhere and getting yelled at by some guy that wanted to hurry up to the next “place” he had to be.
What I did was completely instinct: I called my partner…my girlfriend…the woman I have spent the last 13 years with. Why? Because I love her and she loves me and that’s what people do. They call loved ones in time of need. Those people hold them up…they understand them…they comfort them. It’s not copying a mushy movie script…its real. It’s love, and it’s what I feel for this woman.
No…my accident wasn’t bad, but that didn’t matter. She was there.
No…we don’t always agree and it can get quite ugly…but she is always there.
I could go on and on, but it’s not like me…I’d rather be watching a good sci fi or horror movie (both of which she hates) but she’s always there.
…and that’s why I want to marry her.
…
2 Comments
I’ll bet your neck hurts today. Honestly, whiplash shows up the day after and you must go get an x-ray. The x-ray will clearly show whiplash, for future purposes (suing Mr. Butthole). I have been hit from behind (no gay bottom jokes), and that’s how it was for me. To this day I have pains from the whiplash when it gets cold and damp.
I hope you’re ok, Hostess. I agree with Alan — go get an X-ray. I’ve been hit from behind a couple of times (one on a freeway in Los Angeles — I just LOVE the 405 — and the other time on a Bay Area freeway).
I totally get it … the first thing I’d do is call my partner, too. It’s just one simple reason. (And, you know, you put it beautifully.)
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