Waiting

We sat at the DMV for over 90 minutes today. After D had a bare few hours sleep last night. The time change is evil for those with insomnia. And the rest of us as well. But the ID issue had to be taken care of today, long delayed, the crunch is on. We waited, and reminisced. Because, for very few people is waiting in lines, or in concrete floored rooms, a romantic experience. And yet, for a couple who fell in love while in the military, such experiences remind us of early days in each other's company.

We have sat together on such hard floors, or inhuman metal folding chairs, waiting for our names to be called, filling out paperwork, passing time, complaining, making each other laugh. The morning after we were notified of our activation to Gulf War I, after my sleepless night and being dumped (fairly, and honorably I have to add) by the guy I'd been dating for a month, back at the armory doing all the pointlessly annoying shit the Army made us do, I grew an awful migraine. D stood in line with me, and at one point, snagged me a chair, and let me rest my throbbing head on his gas mask carrier strapped to his waist. He says he was happy to have me near, and guiltily relieved that I was available. I loved being near him, and am still grateful for a place to rest my head.

These early waits often necessitated silence together. We simply loved each other's company. And over the course of our sojourn to Saudi Arabia, we always found we preferred to be together, hungry, exhausted, cranky, in pain, annoyed or amused, dirty - at our worst, we still liked each other.

Upon arrival in that country, not knowing what our billets would be like (out in the dirt, or what), we availed ourselves of the army of Filipino barbers to shear us. I came out with a short bowl cut, and a line going around my head, buzzed below, from just above my ear to just above my ear. I have always known that D fell in love with me when I had the worst haircut of my life, I had no fears of superficial judgements. He grins at me, gazes at my hair. It's not as bad as then, I know, he tells me he loves it. Well, it is all me, no dye, no fuss.

We chatted today about mismatched couples, who seem to want the other person to complete them. We have often wondered at the trope of Horace Rumpole, of a funny guy married to She Who Must Be Obeyed - hostile to his sense of humor. Or the couple in Juno, who had no appreciation for the stability of the wife, or the 'coolness' of the husband. We still can't figure out why such people get together in the first place, blaming the artificiality of the dating procedure. Send a pair off for a year to do hard dirty work, grieve together, fix a sink, pay bills, see each other through sickness BEFORE making them vow to stay together through thick and thin. How can anyone know ahead of experience? Good couples bring their whole selves, and the partner provides a safe place for continued growth. I was in a mess when D and I got together, but I never thought he would fill my deficits. I grew around him, sheltered by him, but I wanted to bring the best of myself to us, not use him as spackle.

He thinks I'm funny. He makes me laugh. Even while waiting with children snorting and playing obnoxious electronic games behind us. Tired, cranky, we still giggle.