When I got home from my honeymoon with The Mister, I remember one day he came home from work and found me sitting on our bed folding laundry. I was crying. He came and sat beside me and asked what was wrong. (This was before the novelty of tears had worn him into the callused man he is now. He is now mostly unaffected by tears, but luckily I have different weapons in my arsenal of manipulation after two decades with him)
“I want to go home.” I have no earthly idea looking back why I would have said such a thing. Maybe the knowledge that I was doing laundry and there were approximately 2 billion more loads I would do in this lifetime made me realize that maybe it wasn’t to late to cut my losses and back out. In any case, he said something to me that forever has stuck in my mind.
” You are home now Baby. You belong to me now.”
I do belong to you Mister. I am your Missus.
I love you.
I wish you had a better missus the first few years. One that did not insist on having her way quite so much. One that was a little less “vocal”. One that did not pout.
But you would be bored.
And I would not be the Missus. Instead I would be lonely. I would have no one to take care of (the flip side of bossy). I would not be going out on a date with the prettiest man in Putnam County tonight to eat garlic knots and eggplant parmesan at our favorite little spot. I would not have my constant friend.
I’m awful glad I’m your Missus. Hope you’re just as glad to be The Mister.