Dear Marc, do you ever think about the things that make you love the ones you love? Isn’t it so much easier to think about the actions that make you love them less? Or perhaps that’s not true in your life, but only in mine. I can easily list the things that seem to decrease the pink stream of 100% love flowing from my heart. Crumbles on the floor, neglected phone calls, unwanted gifts when there has been a detailed wish list around (This is ungrateful I know. Honesty - vanity=1-0)
The antidote to this kind of negative appreciation is simple - one must think of the good times. In my case, whenever I’m upset with my man, I think about the time when he saved the day, not to mention his ass. This is what happened:
My boyfriend and love Anders is a handsome and smart fellow who works for a big telecom company. One day he was to hold an important presentation about new web strategies or something of the kind. He was well prepared, well read and most importantly, well dressed. He had put on the right kind of shirt with the right kind of shoes and the right kind of suit. I thought he looked like an executive dream come true. He was a little nervous, but not too much as the important listeners gathered in the meeting room. The presentation was ready, waiting behind the blue screen of the computer. Anders greeted everyone and stooped to plug in the projector. But as he did, he heard and felt his pants rip. Not a little rip, like the one I wrote you about the other day, but a huge rip. From the crotch and all the way up to his belt. They were expensive enough to make you think that should never have happened. But as it had happened, Anders had to solve the situation fast, and return to hold his presentation. A room filled with suits were staring at him, waiting to hear about the future communication possibilities of web and telecom.
Unwilling to let them witness his fine behind, Anders excused himself, saying he had to go get something and backed out of the room. Looking (here I would love to say desperately, but what do I know, I wasn’t there) resourcefully around the office, he grabbed a stapler and ducked into the men’s room where he stapled the pants together and ran back to the meeting, where he held the presentation, enhanced by steel in his nether regions. No one in the room knew how close they had been to a bare assed presentation. Should they have been impressed or provoked? I for one, remain proud and more loving than ever when I think about my man and his stapled pants. I’m also happy he held the presentation in our hometown. A stapled crotch is not the ideal item of clothing when walking through an airport metal detector. Or if you live close to large magnets. Happily we do not.
Sending you the kindest of Monday greetings
Ps. This morning, I brought out a stapler so that Anders could demonstrate the stapling action. Our daughter got hold of it and tried to staple her own belly. Like Level 42 would say, we’ve got self stapling running in the family. Looking back it's so bizarre, all the things we are.
Ps2. This is Anders demonstrating his world famous stapling technique.