Real Love And Small Things

As is my sorta weekly habit, I was writing on my laptop at the local sports bar and watching whatever Saturday noontime game piqued my interest. It was the end of a bad week, and the e-mails I received heaped despair on misery. So I packed up the laptop, downed the beer, and went home earlier than usual. Before turning off the cell phone, I called my oldest son with instructions that his young man weekend was mine, and he would take care of things. Then I called Her.

"Can you come home?"

"Okay. I'll be there in a few minutes." I had interrupted her sorta weekly habit, but she knew I was upset by recent events. Goddess bless her. She walked into the bedroom about ten minutes later.

"You've got five minutes," I said. "Pack what you need. Me, I've got what's on my back and in my pockets. That's all." To my amazement, she threw a change of underwear in her bag and said "Let's go."

We hit the road.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said. "We could be in Laughlin or Kingman pretty quick. You choose." A moment's silence, and she said:

"Laughlin. But the river run is there this weekend."

We arrived an hour and a half later, thousands of Harleys BAROOOOOM-ing along the main drag of the small town overlooking the Colorado River. At my inquiry, she pointed at the Edgewater Hotel and Casino. With the serendipity of a trip unplanned, we found a parking space, acquired the last room they had, and within twenty minutes were strolling along the river with a Corona in our hands.

Neither one of us is much of a Harley fan. But we saw 20,547.3 million motorcycles. We saw a woman bare her tits and ass from the bow of a speedboat on the river, while everyone on shore hooted, hollered, and cracked up. I dropped a bottle of beer that sprayed and made me smell like a brewery becuase I didn't bring a change of clothes. We threw food pellets to carp the size of Volkswagens. We ate at a crappy buffet. We ambled among the tents of vendors catering to the motorcycle crowd. I bought, and reveled in smoking, a big aromatic cigar. She laughed at the bikini babe contest. She bought her father a motorcycle babe calendar. We saw a vendor attracting customers with bikini-clad pole dancers. She lost $60 on slot machines. We sat and watched the bikers strut their hogs along the main drag. We drove and toured the (original, no kidding) London Bridge at Lake Havasu. We had lunch in the sun with the slowest waitress this side of Jupiter. We watched ducks dive and cliff swallows flitting about their nests. We got drunk and screwed.

The time was ours. The memory is ours. The experience was another brick in the house we continually build together, adding, changing, demolishing, creating.

I will never tire of you laughing.

I will never tire of your hugs.

I will never tire of the marvel of watching you put on your bra.

I will never tire of buying you flowers for no reason.

I will never tire of our good-natured jokes and banter.

I will never tire of your warm woman wife smell.

Happy Anniversay, Sweets, the most golden and perfect heart I will ever know.

I love you.