Jason is my fiance. But he is more then my dishwasher and dog taker-outer, he has a back story. This is his tale…
Jason’s life was not an easy one. He spent the first year of college in a dorm….in a family shelter. The instability of his home life makes mine look like a Norman Rockwell painting. Nutty mother, violent father, and yet he still manages to be one of the most laid back people I know. As a kid he spent most of his time playing video games, throwing orange peels from tress at speeding cars. This prepares me for having demon children who I’ll have to spank in Wal-Mart. Or ask other people to do so when I’m at my wits end.
He likes to know how things work or why things make sense. I call him Spock when I can’t take hearing about why my sunglasses are peeling plastic stuff or why our babies will have brown eyes (I want blue eyed babies and have the Punnett square to prove that we have a 25% chance of one! Shut up about my genes!).
He is ridiculously clumsy. I’m talking walking into doors. Like strolling headfirst into our bedroom door like he meant to. Which makes me spit take. It’s not attractive. I have yet to see him get off the couch or out of bed without injuring himself. He doesn’t have the ability to sit up from a lying down position. It’s like he never got over his gangly teen phase.
He can’t cook, but he can roast a chicken. He can’t sing, but he loves Queen and old school eighties rap, which is barely music anyway so it all works out. He is family tech support and can download anything from Russia or wherever he got me The Sims for my birthday. He is on board with a move to Nevada as long as we take a tour of a brothel while we’re out there. The Bunny Ranch has guided tours without happy endings, right?
In grade school, I had a preoccupation with love. Probably because I didn’t know what love with a man looked like. I told my mom that all I wanted was a best friend…with extras. Mission accomplished.