I’m about to relax in a warm bath surrounded by the sound of singing bowls on YouTube, but as soon as I submerge myself, the moment is interrupted by a commercial. Isn’t that always the way? 

It’s one of those ads that takes forever, and requires the pressing of a ‘skip this’ button to stop it. Since I’m not about to bound, soaking wet, from the tub to push said button, I must surrender to the voice of a male announcer who begins, 

“To my beautiful wife: I didn’t marry you so that I could live with you.” 

The words get me thinking: I certainly hope The Huz (that’s what I call you-know-who, my spouse) didn’t marry me just so he could live with me. Or maybe he did. After all, when we met in the 90s, I had an apartment in Manhattan on the Upper West Side. He was in Rego Park, Queens. Back then, Manhattan trumped Queens. And just as I’m putting two and two together, the announcer says,

“I married you because I can’t live without you.”

That sounds a bit smothering to me, but I do wonder if The Huz could manage to live without me. 

Like all married couples, over time, we fill different holes to make the marriage work. I’m good at taking care of the property; noticing when the house needs painting, when the oil is low, when floorboards need replacing, etc. He’s good at finding the things I lose on a daily basis like my good gloves, eye glasses, wallet, and keys to the car. All probably lost because my mind is always on the property. I conclude he could live without me, if only he lived in his car. And he may prefer that. The announcer continues:

“I may not be your first date, your first kiss, or your first love…”

I’m embarrassed to admit that he wasn’t my first date, kiss or love. However, I did come of age in the 70s, a decade that made the 60s look like the 50s. And that’s my excuse. And then, the announcer adds,

 “…but I just want to be your last everything.”

Well, that’s nice and sentimental, but at my age, 69, do I have much choice? We are each other’s ‘last everything.’ I stop worrying about the property, and start to imagine things I don’t want to think about. And the ad goes on…

“I squeezed this necklace really tight and filled it with my love and light.”

I picture my husband, eyes closed, ‘squeezing’ the necklace really tight while a ray of sunshine miraculously beams down upon his upturned face, and I shake my head. That would never happen. The Huz, although a musician, is way too masculine for that kind of business. It would be so out of character. However, he could be squeezing necklaces in a dark closet somewhere. Even after 30+ years, how well do we really know each other?

“If ever I’m not here and you need a hug just hold it close to feel my love. Love, your husband.”

As I imagine myself, alone, eyes closed, squeezing said necklace instead of practicing my aim with pepper spray, a burst of laughter escapes from my lips so loud it startles me. And then, right on cue, from the other room, The Huz exclaims, “It’ll be here tomorrow!”

The necklace arrived in faux gold featuring a cosmic pendant in the shape of a swirling atom with a centerpiece of paste-glass faceted to mimic a diamond. Happy Valentine’s Day, which, by the way, also happens to be my birthday.

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.