I got this hat recently. It reminded me of a hat you might find in the forties... or thirties... fifties even? Whatever. Sometime in the past.
Now that I've got this old hat, guess what else will inevitably happen? Well, it's so hum-drum but I'll tell you anyway:
It was an improbable romance.
He was a country boy, she was from the city.
She had the world at her feet while he didn't have two dimes to rub together.
Some la-di-da day, my husband--we'll call him Noah--will sweep me (for the sake of this story, I'm Allie) off my feet and through a Carolina swamp with white swans and storms and passion. Because we were bored.
Then, as we pull up on the dock I'll say things like, "Why didn't you write me?! I waited for you for seven years!" And he'll scream back, "
You waited for me? What do you mean? I see you every day. We live in the same house! I wrote you 365 letters. I wrote you every day for a year! It wasn't over... It still isn't over!" Then I'll wrap my legs around him and we'll storm into the house making out all the while knocking over the dog, and the kids, and the folded laundry, and the dinner cooking on the stove and inside there just so happens to be a roaring fire in the fire place and a huge fur blanket strategically placed and on it we do things that people do when they're married. Then he'll say to me, "You're gonna kill me woman! I need sleep! I need food, to regain my strength!"
Does this sound familiar?