Ying and Ying?
‘Even after so many years, you’re all loved up’ a friend once yelled at me.
Her accusation resonated for some time. Should I feel guilty? Happy? What prompted her to say such a thing with such contempt? When I asked, she said she could just tell that we got along well and she wanted the same thing. I didn’t know how to answer that.
Mr Lucky and I are loved up. We are very different in many ways, and at the same time quite similar. We still are individuals in our own right. And yes, of course it’s not always a given, we work at it. Well, Mr Lucky is truly a patient man. He often waits for me to remove my foot from my mouth, only to shake his head in disbelief as I replace it with the other. He is not perfect either. He shakes his head when I swap feet. That is wrong.
Because we arrived in Greece as an already made family as opposed to a growing one (which is what we were in the UK), not many ask how long we’ve been together, or where we met etc. Perhaps we’re not that interesting, or it’s a question nobody asks because frankly – who cares?
You can imagine my surprise when the technician installing our internet turned to me and said ‘ You and your husband really get along don’t you?’ I smiled, thinking, you have just met me. You know nothing about me or Mr Lucky. I could be a husband beater and he could be living here at home in absolute terror, or I could be his girlfriend visiting while his wife popped out.
When he left, I asked Mr Lucky why he thought the technician said what he said. Mr Lucky and he had had a little conversation when I was not in the room. It wasn’t at all similar to what we had discussed when he was installing the internet – so his comment left us baffled.
Perhaps he has seen us out? We pondered. Perhaps he knows people that know us. We reasoned. We let it go and let the afternoon pass.
Little Miss came home from nursery and pointed to Mr Lucky’s t-shirt and said ‘What does that say?’
‘Ramones, it’s a band’ Mr Lucky replied. Little Miss ran off to play satisfied.
The afternoon merged into evening and as we sat around the dinner table, Little Miss turned to me and said ‘I know what that says’ pointing to Mr Lucky’s t-shirt. It says Ramones.’ We both smiled thinking what a good memory she had.
To my horror – she turned to me and said ‘Your t-shirt says the same thing mummy’
When the mundane of day to day life takes up all your attention – it’s a scary when you look up and realise that you and your partner have been wearing identical t-shirts all day. Good taste aside, a sense of embarrassment hits you like a hard slap – in addition to being ‘matchy matchy’ you’ve been out and about together holding hands like two loved up teenagers. Your shame threatens to go into overload and you promise to yourself never ever leave the house again. Almost in lock down, I glare at Mr Lucky. It’s his fault, of course.
Simultaneously our mouths open ‘How could you not have noticed’ we yell. Blood drains from our faces. The screaming begins. It’s like hearing a chapel filled with the possessed during a exorcism. I smile (not with evil). The accusations are different. We’re not using the same words. We haven’t morphed into one, we are not completing each other’s sentences. We are angry with each other. Really angry, We’re not that compatible. Phew.
Her accusation resonated for some time. Should I feel guilty? Happy? What prompted her to say such a thing with such contempt? When I asked, she said she could just tell that we got along well and she wanted the same thing. I didn’t know how to answer that.
Mr Lucky and I are loved up. We are very different in many ways, and at the same time quite similar. We still are individuals in our own right. And yes, of course it’s not always a given, we work at it. Well, Mr Lucky is truly a patient man. He often waits for me to remove my foot from my mouth, only to shake his head in disbelief as I replace it with the other. He is not perfect either. He shakes his head when I swap feet. That is wrong.
Because we arrived in Greece as an already made family as opposed to a growing one (which is what we were in the UK), not many ask how long we’ve been together, or where we met etc. Perhaps we’re not that interesting, or it’s a question nobody asks because frankly – who cares?
You can imagine my surprise when the technician installing our internet turned to me and said ‘ You and your husband really get along don’t you?’ I smiled, thinking, you have just met me. You know nothing about me or Mr Lucky. I could be a husband beater and he could be living here at home in absolute terror, or I could be his girlfriend visiting while his wife popped out.
When he left, I asked Mr Lucky why he thought the technician said what he said. Mr Lucky and he had had a little conversation when I was not in the room. It wasn’t at all similar to what we had discussed when he was installing the internet – so his comment left us baffled.
Perhaps he has seen us out? We pondered. Perhaps he knows people that know us. We reasoned. We let it go and let the afternoon pass.
Little Miss came home from nursery and pointed to Mr Lucky’s t-shirt and said ‘What does that say?’
‘Ramones, it’s a band’ Mr Lucky replied. Little Miss ran off to play satisfied.
The afternoon merged into evening and as we sat around the dinner table, Little Miss turned to me and said ‘I know what that says’ pointing to Mr Lucky’s t-shirt. It says Ramones.’ We both smiled thinking what a good memory she had.
To my horror – she turned to me and said ‘Your t-shirt says the same thing mummy’
When the mundane of day to day life takes up all your attention – it’s a scary when you look up and realise that you and your partner have been wearing identical t-shirts all day. Good taste aside, a sense of embarrassment hits you like a hard slap – in addition to being ‘matchy matchy’ you’ve been out and about together holding hands like two loved up teenagers. Your shame threatens to go into overload and you promise to yourself never ever leave the house again. Almost in lock down, I glare at Mr Lucky. It’s his fault, of course.
Simultaneously our mouths open ‘How could you not have noticed’ we yell. Blood drains from our faces. The screaming begins. It’s like hearing a chapel filled with the possessed during a exorcism. I smile (not with evil). The accusations are different. We’re not using the same words. We haven’t morphed into one, we are not completing each other’s sentences. We are angry with each other. Really angry, We’re not that compatible. Phew.
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