“That is such a woman thing to do,” he said from the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other gripping half of his large Lenny’s sandwich.
“What?” I ask, interested to know what I’ve done that makes me one of those generic women. With eyebrows raised I turned to him and watched his adam’s apple bob as the turkey sandwich slid down his throat.
“Ask a man how the food is before he’s even swallowed the first bite! As soon as I bite the thing, you’re already asking me how it is!” He shook his head, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth and a breathless laugh escaped as he turned to me. ”I don’t even know yet.”
We couldn’t be more different. I’m type B. He’s type A. I’m ENFP. He’s INTJ. I love romantic, chick lit movies and musicals. He loves action — guns and such. He’s a hunter, a farmer, an “all weather” worker. I’m…well…not any of those things. He’s the organized one. The “Let’s get this vent dusted” one. The, “I hate to speak in public” one. The one that likes his shirts folded this way and the “let me reach this for you,” one.
I’m the “let’s put the vent dusting off until tomorrow and sit down with a good movie and a book” one. I’m the “papers all over my desk” one. The “totally not shy” one. The one who couldn’t tell you how I like my shirts folded, because they’re all folded different ways.
But still, it’s moments like these when my heart still flutters.
Not because we are the most similar people. But because we are the two most un-alike people on earth that yet, somehow make it work. Against the odds, we love. We love with all we have.
And between the turkey sandwiches and the questions, the mismatched shirts and the vent dusting, we find common ground. Whether it’s in a shared glance driving down the road, a laugh, or in something as simple as taking my hand in his, he still manages to make my knees a weak.
And I’m certain my extra good looks stop his heart ALL THE TIME.
But that’s the thing, about love and God. That He brings two opposites together to make one awesome togetherness.
AAAANNNND what’s a mushy post without a really old photo, really?