Jackson Free Press

When I was first contacted regarding writing about romance, my very first thought was: "What the hell do I know about romance? I'm married." If I can bother with wiping the eye boogers and the drool off my mouth before I roll over and demand coffee in the morning, I'm a goddess. If I'm actually wearing clean pajamas? Hell, that's sassy. I think in this respect, one's idea of "romance" varies greatly throughout life.

When I met my husband, I was already 30 and more than a tiny bit jaded toward the intentions of grown men in the dating scene. I think because of this, wooing me was a wee bit harder than wooing most normal women.

It's also complicated by the fact that I'm a fairly pragmatic person. If you show up underneath my window spouting poetry, I will ask about the state of the flowerbeds as you are leaving. I will also vomit a little in my mouth. I prefer funny and sweet, and well, that's how he won me.

On our first date, I shared with my now-husband that I was planning to move to Jackson. I actually lived in a suburb at the time and was desperately planning my escape into the city. Two days after I informed him of my plan, he showed up with a wrapped present in honor of my impending move. It was a gun. And as he gave it to me, he said, "I figured if you're going to be moving to Jackson ..." and we both shared the most delicious, romantic laugh.

It really didn't matter that the gun was wooden and shot rubber bands. That gun sits on my desk five years later and reminds me of a man who showed up at my house before our second official date to give me a gun because he cared so much about me. That's romance, folks. At least, that's my particular flavor. And that's all you've really got to find—your flavor.

Last month, for our three-year wedding anniversary, I got a car battery. Do any of you know what year anniversary covers batteries? Because I was told that you are supposed to get leather your third year. And I'm sure I could come up with several things that need to be covered with leather in our house. But on that day, what I really needed was a car battery. I also needed a man to put that car battery in the car (and I got him, too!). Like I said, one's idea of romance does change over time.

I think what I'm trying to say is that I can't tell you what romance is. I have no idea what romance looks like for you. You'll know when you've found your flavor, whatever that flavor may be. It'll make you laugh and make your face warm. It'll make you put wooden guns on your desk and shoot rubber bands across the room. It'll make you cuss soundly, and sleep even more so. But at the end of the day, when you are searching for just what you need to make everything OK, sometimes it may be a man holding roses. But sometimes, it's just a man holding a car battery.

[He Said] ‘Stay Awhile'