Sometimes I just can’t quite help myself.
I try to be a good wife. Honest, I do.
But then something begins to percolate and bubble and works its way into my thoughts and soon I’m saying something that throws Captain Cavedweller for a loop.
The other day he was completely engrossed in watching the NFL Draft. In our house, it is somewhat akin to a national holiday. Having been married for nineteen years, I know the routine:
• Do not walk, stand or breathe in front of the television.
• Only speak on commercial breaks if absolutely necessary.
• Do not, under any circumstances, ask any questions or initiate any conversation unless it is directly related to something that just happened in the draft process.
Having holed myself up in my office for the evening, I came out and sat down to watch a few minutes of the draft with him. From out of nowhere, I hear words flying out of my mouth that had absolutely nothing to do with football.
“Do you remember our wedding song?”
CC looked at me like I’d sprouted horns and rattled off a song and an artist. While he had the artist correct, he had the song wrong. The song he referred to was “our” song while we were dating, but not the wedding song.
Our wedding song was a brand new single that came out just a week or so before our wedding. I heard it on the radio and knew it had to be part of our wedding. After much pleading and begging, the local radio station agreed to give us a copy of the song because there wasn’t anywhere local carrying the single yet. It was “I Swear” by John Michael Montgomery.
So when I raised an eyebrow and shook my head at CC, his eyes grew wide and a look of terror crossed his face, knowing he was in the hot seat.
“I know it was John Michael Montgomery,” he said, on the defense.
“Yes, it was,” I said, picking up a magazine and starting to thumb through it.
“Well,” he said, staring at me, waiting for me to end the misery.
“You’ll figure it out,” I said, getting up from my chair and leaving the room.
I felt bad, momentarily, at having disturbed his intense concentration of the draft. Then I felt a little annoyed that he couldn’t remember our wedding song. It’s the only wedding he was actively involved in. How hard can it be to remember one song?
Getting ready for bed, I sat reading a book when he wandered in looking rather sheepish.
“Just tell me,” he said, now consumed with the need to know what he shouldn’t have forgotten.
“Nope,” I said, pretending to be absorbed in the book.
I heard the shower running and a short while later the shower door slammed and CC charged out of the bathroom.
“I Swear,” he said, smugly, waggling his index finger at me with a triumphant grin while he dripped water all over the bedroom carpet. “The song was I Swear.”
“Right you are,” I said and gave him a pleased smile as he returned to the shower.
Although football is a sacred thing to him, CC abandoned watching the draft and kept digging through his memory until he came up with the song.
Despite the fact I know better than to throw left-field questions like that at him, especially when his thoughts are focused on football, he generally takes them in stride.
And that is reason #393 I love him so.
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