10…9…8…7…I prayed he wouldn’t get up, but I knew him for quite a while now and knew he wasn’t quite out for the count. As projected he bounced back and tried to hit me with a one-two, but I dipped and dodged the swings of the tongue. My component was my husband and boy he must have worked out since our last go round because it was much easier to win our new car fight than this one. For a moment I tried to remember how this warm-up spar turned into a full fledged boxing match.
It was a normal Saturday morning, which meant I was griping about how we once again let the chaos of the week take control of our small abode. It also meant my husband was pretending to be asleep. Before I knew it, a quick jab of “say something else” started the battle. The lights dimmed, the mic dropped from the ceiling, and that famous guy with the good hair was in our living room. In this corner wearing mix matched church socks, a dingy white T-shirt, and black framed glasses….The Doz. And in this corner wearing the same shirt she had on from last night, morning hair that would scare a ghost, and who knows where she put her glasses because she never can find them….Modeezzy. Ding, ding, ding.
FIRST ROUND!!! I came out fighting with everything I had, as usual. A few jabs regarding old stuff from last week, a quick left about dirty dishes, and an upper cut about working hard. I kept it coming with a left, right, left: bedroom light still broke, hallway door held together by a hair tie, and of course the dishes. Actually I punched with the dishes for a good minute…nonstop…with all my power…until I literally couldn’t stand it anymore. I knew I had him, he was wavering, but the Doz was a patient fighter; he didn’t swing much, studied his opponent until the perfect time. And to my surprise he slammed me with a below the belt “you didn’t cook dinner last night so why should I wash dishes” punch. I blacked out, I went kamikaze. Boxing turned into street fighting and all rules went out the window.
SECOND ROUND!!!…I didn’t even wait for the bell to ring. I came out with illegal punches all over the place. I hit with a “remember when” swing, the “I always” jab, the faithful “dirty dishes” punch, and “you no good” gut jab. But he just wouldn’t go down! I panicked for a bit and started to feel backed up in my corner. I didn’t want to have to use the worse move of them all “the family” swing, but I had no other choice. As I approached to lay the blow, I slipped on the “I’m sorry” forfeit. I didn’t see it coming, and before I knew it I was going down. The fall felt like slow motion as I watched the ring of “I take that back” quickly approaching, but right before I hit the ground he caught me.
He caught me with his silly jokes, big cheeks, and funny dances. He caught me with holding me until I fell asleep from crying after my grandmother’s death. He caught me with vowing to love me for better or for worse. He caught me with his love. I was defenseless and the fight was over, but the amazing thing was that we both won. I didn’t vow to never train for another battle; I didn’t vow to never throw a swing; I didn’t even vow to never start a battle again. But I did vow to never push away his ways of catching me….because it’s what got us in the ring in the first place.
Always with love,