Evan and I had a perfectly wonderful dinner tonight at the Red Lobster. The service was a tad slow and the air was a tad high, but over all, it was a nice dinner. And when the two of us go to dinner we get to do a lot of talking, and we usually have such a good time in the process. One of the topics we touched on tonight was whether or not we were the same people we were when we got married - meaning had we tried to market ourselves as people we were not in order to "hook" the other one in. We came to the conclusion that Evan ate more salad and vegetables when we were courting than he does now, and I was a lot more wild during those days in that I would be out in the woods with my friends or would still go out in bars whereas now I prefer to be home with him and the baby.
Tonight was a little different because we ended up taking two cars due to me having come straight from a TAFPA board meeting across town, so after dinner I took the baby home in my car (because Evan likes to listen to comedy with bad words that I do not want my son to learn) and Evan headed home in his. Neither of us goes the same way, so I expected that Evan would have beaten us home due to the weather, but alas we pull into the driveway right about the same time. When we get out of the car he says he'd been listening to a comedian that was talking about how when you first start dating the fun stuff you do on dates distorts who you really are.
At this point, I'm kind of freaking out because it sounds to me like he's decided I'm no fun anymore and our responsibilities are a drag, but he goes on to say that this comedian thinks you should each eat a half of a raw piece of chicken and if you still like each other after going through food poisoning together that it's meant to be. So now I'm wondering if he's trying to lure me into eating gross nasty slimy chicken or something, but no he points out that within two weeks of starting to date him that my best friend's little brother was shot and murdered during a botched convenience store robbery. He got to see me at my snottiest, snivveliest, most distraught days as I worked through the grief with my friend and her family.
He then pointed out that within three weeks of becoming engaged, my best guy friend was killed in a freak accident in the back roods roads of 305. He knew I was crazy in love with my friend (obviously not in the same kind of love I was in with Evan... but you know what I mean)and that when Richard died I took it very, very hard. I was so depressed afterwards that I wouldn't get out of bed for days. And I cried all the time.
About a month after that, Evan and I were on the phone arguing about something and I was two seconds away from saying I wanted to break up when my cat dragged into my bedroom a half dead half alive nasty thing and I shrieked and asked Evan to come get it and kill it. From all the way across town he came in less than ten minutes to kill whatever present Bob has brought into my house... and he did it with no questions asked.
Evan saw me at my very worst and my very lowest points, and he was still in love with me anyway. His point in these stories, is that we were meant to be together. We went through some pretty hard stuff when we lost our first foster child to another family unexpectedly. And both Evan and went before the judge to plead our case even though before that beautiful little girl was given to us Evan never wanted kids. He stuck with me through two deaths, some pretty icky things the cat drug in, planning a wedding (which is another story all together), travelling to meet his parents, and finishing up school. And he stayed with me when I decided that we wanted kids.
What he was telling me tonight is that he loves me. He loves me for who I am and he loves me for what I try to be. Can I be any more loved than that? I don't think it's possible. It may be that I've landed the last truly great, romantic man of the century!
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