I mean, seriously…
But I can tell you, without question, my wife will fall for the love story any time, any place, any where. I think she has seen “Pretty Woman” 1,402 times.
She loves all things warm and fuzzy.
I’m reminded of the words of humorist Dave Barry, who says (I’m paraphrasing), “When faced with the choice of coddling a baby or catching a fly ball, a woman will choose the baby every single time, not even considering whether there are men on base.”
This just in: Guys do not understand this.
But I’ve learned to try. As of today I have been married to Kim 22 years. That means for 22 years I’ve heard that sexy shoes are more important than first downs, and long walks with her and our dog are more important than long walks with the driver and a 5-iron.
To Kim, the worst romantic comedy ever made is far more meaningful than the best sports event ever played.
And I think that’s great. After all, I need a softer, more sentimental influence in my life. It gets tiresome being a chiseled, adventurous man of steel all the time (hey, I heard that).
Try as I might, a man cannot survive on ‘Braveheart’ quotes alone.
But let me tell you my one observation about love stories.
My gripe isn’t about the predictable storyline. You know, girl hates guy because he is an insensitive idiot. But then guy accidentally does something noble, so girl thinks he might have a clue. In the end, just before girl is about to marry someone else, girl and guy end up marrying each other.
My gripe is with the last line of every love story, as if it happens so easily and so magically: “And they all lived happily ever after.”
That’s not a love story. That’s a fairy tale. The divorce rate proves it.
The reality is that the wedding is not the crowning point of a real love story. Instead, it is only the beginning. The real love story is not how two “perfect” people fell for one another, it’s in how two people who are so different in so many ways found the way to stay together.
Real love is the combination of Noah and Allie, Fred and Ethel, Ozzie and Harriett…and Martini & Rossi (got you).
Real love isn’t playing kissy-face in the coffee shop; it’s looking at one another from across a crowded room and knowing exactly what the other is thinking.
Real love isn’t goo goo eyes and thinking one another is perfect, only to later be disappointed; it’s wrinkled eyes and knowing there are imperfections all around, and loving one another anyway.
Real love isn’t a Ferarri that zips through the bright lights of Manhattan; it’s a slow walk on a summer evening, holding hands and finding something spectacular in the rays of the setting sun.
Real love is safe. It’s tested. It’s a perpetual cycle of respect, continually giving the best of yourself, every day, knowing that real love is in the giving, not the getting.
I’ve heard it said that a good marriage doesn’t depend on FINDING the right person. Instead, it depends on BEING one.
I wish I could say I knew all of this instinctively, but the reality is I’ve had Kim to model it for me over the last 22 years.
She has always been generous in her actions, kind in her thoughts, and always – always – respectful in her treatment of me. It’s a given that I am far from perfect (hey, I heard that, too), but you would never know that from the way Kim talks to me, especially with people around.
In a world that learns etiquette on Jerry Springer, Kim is without a doubt the nicest person I know. She makes her point, but without the humiliation. She says what she believes, but with an eye on building our relationship, not tearing it down.
That’s a great quality, isn’t it? Plus she’s hot.
It’s what keeps our story going. She must have learned all that by watching ‘Steel Magnolias,’ ‘The Notebook’ and ‘Message In A Bottle.’
‘Cause I didn’t get a hint of that watching ‘Die Hard.’
Who'd have thought it? Love stories have value after all.
Here’s to Kim and 22 years together. And to a whole lot more.
