Waiting for the other shoe to drop

This is what happened.

Fauxhawk found out about the blog.
He then beat me senseless with a hamhock.
It was then that I knew he truly loved me, so we got married.
The end.

* * * *

This is what really happened.

Fauxhawk found out about the blog.

“I read it all,” Fauxhawk said.

GULP.

“Do you want to say anything?”

GULP. Silence. Tears.

Small voice. “No.”

Fauxhawk found out about my blog on Sunday night. He waited almost an entire day before he read it, during which time my internal organs dissolved and dripped out of my ear, collecting in a pool around my ankles. I imagined the demise of everything joyful and bright. The relationship. The blog. The small and tentative gestures toward doing something creative.

Gone, gone, gone.

I dreaded what Fauxhawk would say next. I worried that he was terribly, irreparably hurt. What followed was pride, vanity, and the desire for approval: I was worried that Fauxhawk – the most discerning and curious and creative person I know – wouldn’t like the blog. That he’d think it was facile. Or poorly written. Or overdone. I wanted him to like it because his opinion is the one I value most.

“It’s good,” he said. “But…”

And then we talked. We talked about boundaries and privacy and secrets and individuality and the need for something of one’s own. We talked about our relationship and all the trials and tribulations we’d been through together, and all the things we hoped would come to pass.

“I want you to have this blog,” he said. “Don’t stop writing in it. Just please don’t let your readers think my apartment is a crack den.”

“Your bedroom,” I corrected him. “And it was a crack den.”

So I will keep the blog, but make some minor adjustments. I will start by setting the record straight.

Setting the record straight:

1. Fauxhawk’s bedroom is not a crack den. It was, but now it’s not, and that’s because of the teal paint, which is surprisingly beautiful.

2. Fauxhawk is “not a baby kitten that I bat around with my paw and train to do my bidding.” I was instructed to say that. And it’s true – Fauxhawk is neither a kitten nor someone who does my bidding. Both of these revelations annoy me greatly.

3. Fauxhawk lets me pick him up and carry him around on my back, despite the fact that he is over six feet tall and weighs 220lbs. For some reason, it was important to Fauxhawk that you know this. I think it says something about our relationship, but I’m not sure what. See also: “baby kitten that I bat around.”

I think we’ve cleared the air, haven’t we? Everything is ok, yes?

So let’s carry on. Tomorrow, you’ll hear about The Most Exciting Thing That Ever Happened to Me. It involves intrigue, stealth, a hunt for buried treasure. It will be very, very exciting.

But before I end, I wanted to say to you all:

I’m so happy to be here. I’m so happy you’re here. Thank you for reading. You mean a lot to me.


Photographs by Tim Flach