Sometimes Love is Like a Bad Tennis Match

Being married for ages has its ups and downs and back and forth's. Especially in conversation. Communication is the hardest part of marriage my father used to say. I didn't understand it then,  but I'm beginning to now.

The dialog often goes like this.

Love, love.

Do you think the paint treatment will hold? 

Don't know. It will be interesting to see if Canola oil can remove oxidation, or at least cover it up.

Of course when it rained I think the windows got cloudy. So I brought some paper towels and now we can windex them down.

It didn't rain before you left.

Yes, it did. Remember you said, wouldn't you know it rains the day you wash the car! It was covered with poinciana petals from the front yard branches that hang over the drive way.

Love, fifteen.

So I feel like our conversations are like bad tennis matches.

We lob sentences back and forth and keep missing the ball.

I send the ball, he misses.

He sends the ball, I miss, never seeming to connect.

I resist throwing the racket at him.

Fifteen, fifteen.

I serve, he misses, he returns it, I miss. We keep missing each other and mass confusion sets in. It's so maddening,  its a wonder we don't pitch the tennis balls and stomp off the court, the both of us.

Oh, he admitted. You're right.

Thank God! Because I feel like I'm going crazy when I cant' remember events that happened a half a day ago.

No it's me that's going crazy, he says.

Fifteen, thirty.

Well, just for today. I'm sure you'll be in your right mind tomorrow.

I'm working on it with diet and exercise, getting my mind back, that is.

We'll work on it together, ok? 

Ok.

Love, Love.