‘Tis the season for coughing, hacking, and blowing our noses. Despite our best efforts, John and I both caught the yucky stuff that’s going around. John affectionately refers to it as “The Crud.” I call it “A Major Inconvenience.” How am I supposed to check off my to do list, when I’m sniffling, sneezing, and coughing up a lung?
John and I have been married long enough that we’ve covered “richer or poorer,” “in sickness and in health,” and “better or worse.” Honestly, a lot of the “better or worse” is covered under “in sickness and in health.” I mean, how much worse can I look after blowing half my nasal cavity into a tissue, or throwing up my lunch?
Cameron and Gracie had been married less than six months when they hit the “in sickness and in health” vow. Cameron had a severe ear infection, so they went to the nearest urgent care and waited twenty minutes. Then they waited in an exam room for another fifteen minutes. During that time Cameron threw up twice. Sweet Gracie held the trash can under his chin, lovingly wiping his mouth after each deposit into the waste basket. I can’t speak for my kid, but that’s when I knew for sure Gracie loved her husband more than she loved herself. She was in it for the long haul.
And it got me to thinking—why do we put on a big show for first dates and beyond? Why do we take so much care to make ourselves look amazing and wonderful? Once we commit to each other, all that goes out the window and we let our true selves hang out.
Should we hide our crazy, imperfect selves? Isn’t that just prolonging the inevitable? Wouldn’t it be more fair for women to show their no makeup, sweat pants and t-shirt, messy hair selves? And men too—ladies, don’t you want to know what you’re getting into? Wouldn’t it be more honest to see your potential husband in his twenty year old lounge pants and garage band tee, with his unshaven face and in need of a shower?
I don’t plan on ever dating again, or getting married. I’ve already informed John that he’s it—I’ll fly solo if he goes first. But if I could do it all over again, I think I’d arrive on our first date in my pajamas and mismatched socks, hair put up in a ponytail and no makeup. Maybe I’d even bring a bag of menthol cough suppressant drops and a box of tissues. And I’d want John to arrive in his neon orange t-shirt and red and black plaid lounge pants, unshaven face and tousled hair. We should all know what we’re really getting into, shouldn’t we?
Jann Goar Franklin graduated Russellville High School in 1985 and lives in Grand Cane, Louisiana. She also writes books, which are for sale at www.jannfranklin.com. You can reach her at jann@jannfranklin.com