What Makes a Perfect Match?

As you can imagine, being married and divorced three times would indicate that there have been plenty of times over the years that I’ve asked myself “what makes a perfect match..?”  What ingredient gives it that little extra zing that gets you over all the awful times?

I’m not foolish enough (anymore) to believe that there is a “happily ever after…”  Not by half.  I’m a reasonably intelligent woman and know well that ‘Man’ is the most perplexing, unresolvable puzzle ever created.

The Squeeze goes beyond if this.  If I am black, he is white.  Hot/Cold.  Sharp/Blunt.  Hell, I could go on documenting our opposites all day but in the end, the only sane way to mitigate the outcome of our differences, is to anticipate the total opposite of any single thing that I may think/do/or say.

My parents were remarried on their 50^th wedding anniversary; in a church since they had eloped the first time around.  Sounds incredibly romantic and it was, but it wasn’t like they didn’t have hard times; times I suspect they would have walked away had times been different.

So obviously you need something that can and will withstand the test of time.  For me, that is the art of conversation and humour.  Firstly, I have no doubt that I could talk under water with a mouthful of marbles. I remember one night in bed, the Squeeze turning to me to say “your dad was right! Don’t you ever shut up?”  A little cruel maybe, but no less true for it.

So maybe it isn’t that the conversation has to be a never ending information disgorge.  It just has to be ‘connected’.  We have to be ‘connected’; on the same playing field if you will, looking at the world in a similar way.

Yes, yes.  There have been multiple times over the last two years where I have literally wanted to pick him up by the scruff of the neck and march him out to the front porch, pausing only long enough in my storm back into the house, to slam the door, deadlock it and turn out the light.

But even when he is doing his Moodle Show; when he is laying prostate at the Harridan’s feet and begging for her to dig her heel in one more time; to make it hurt like never before – when I’m screeching at him because no one on the planet can be that fricking stupid…  We still have humour between us; it just isn’t visible at that stage.

Last night in bed with books, he asked me a question and I replied “yarrrsss” in a funny cartoon voice to which he said “Miss Prissy – Foghorn Leghorne!”  And that was when I knew we are the perfect match.  How could he have possibly known that I was a 1960's cartoon character!  And I wasn't even that good at it!

The Harridan, divorce, never ending drama aside, we are attuned…