Yes, I am 5 years old.
Apparently I sometimes like to be exuberant with water. I notice this most when doing the dishes (he is The Chef and I am The Dishwasher, an arrangement that pleases me greatly) and I come away from the sink with the front of my shirt all wet.
I didn’t used to be that way.
Once I lived with a man who was horribly splashy. In hotels, I’d dive into the bathroom first and shower, neatly toweling off before stepping on the bathmat, so I could avoid the Tsunami Aftermath of that man’s showers. I hate stepping on wet floors in socks.
Another man was horribly splashy, but with food. “Look at me!” he’d yell while chopping, “I’m the Swedish Chef!”
“Not when it’s my house,” I’d grumble, knowing I’d be the one to clean up the ankle-deep carrot clippings, onion snarls, and ginger shards.
I hated splashy.
Splashy, to me, meant disrespect. Disrespect for my sock-clad feet. Disrespect for my shinyclean kitchen. Disrespect for my desire for order and neatness and things arrayed neatly in jars on shelves.
You would think, then, that why I married Mr. Splashy is a mystery.
I can tell you why it is not.
For one thing? Soulmate. We should all be so lucky as to make house and life with our soulmate, our most kindred spirit. Mr. Splashy knows my love of play. He evokes it, coaxes it, helps it feel safe. What’s a little water when your persona is married to its soulmate persona? More splashing for everyone!
Another thing? Well, respect. If Mr. Splashy had any inkling that I hated splashing, well, not only would there be no Mr. & Mrs., but we would have pristine countertops free from splashes of any kind. If I really wanted it that way, he would do it. For me, because he loves me.
But it is way more fun to embrace my inner 5 year old and join my man in his world. That way, I honor us both.
* We are not actually married. Mr. & Mrs. Splashy are. I think Soulmate would like me to point this out, maybe in all caps WE ARE NOT ACTUALLY MARRIED THANK YOU.
But I love love love that Mr. & Mrs. Splashy are married.