Perhaps

 

Yesterday, Jay was seen trying on the extremely rare 1960s Wrangler denim jacket that was just sold. 

Last year, I told him that he should keep it as soon as we discovered this item was a BOLO (be on the lookout). I pictured him riding his 1974 Honda CB550 Cafe Racer motorsiklo while donning it. 

However, Jay turned it down since he prefers leather jackets; a canvas coated in wax comes in second. 

I also offered it to Yna's tratu, Larry, but he turned it down as well. He claimed to already own a jean jacket. 

Jay asked me for the jacket as soon as he got home from work yesterday after I texted him and shared the screenshot of our sold item. 

He put it on. 

He examined himself in the family room and in the living room mirrors. 

Did he suddenly realize how much of a mistake it was to turn down this vintage piece? 

I'm not entirely sure. 

Perhaps. 😁

Why Jay?

My mother called me after she got the non-medical grade fabric face masks I sent her in California. I also reminded her not to go grocery shopping, and to have someone do it for her, and so many more reminders.

And then, out of the blue, she asked me why I chose Jay. She asked me that question maybe because the mister and I would be celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary on the same date today, in March.

Her marriage with my father didn't work. From the outside looking in, it looked like it was a struggle to keep it afloat in the close to 30  years they were together. But most of those years, they spent them apart from each other. 

I really think that among her 4 children, that question was only thrown at me. 

"He didn't grab my things, or even offered to carry them for me one time he picked me up from my last class for the day (circa 1990, 2nd year in college). He didn't see me as helpless."

It was simple as that. 

I liked it that  he saw me as strong, and not as some damsel in pretend-distress.

He was  just different, unlike some guys that showed some interest in me.  

That gesture wouldn't make my heart pitter patter like in movies. I hated it. In fact, I'd get annoyed, and felt like I would want to puke. 

Such a major turn off.

Did I look helpless that they needed to carry my things? 

I didn't even like a guy who'd carry my purse even when I would need to go in the ladies room. 

And on top of him not treating me helpless, he didn't leave me even if I showed him my worst behavior, and most of those times they were unreasonable. 

The first time my father met him as my boyfriend, he got so worried. He was worried, not for me but for Jay.

It wasn't a secret in the family, in our neighborhood, and our entire clan that I had anger issues---that I was maldita kaayo (extremely mean). 

In a group of mean girls, I'd be the leader, except that I didn't think I was a bully. I fought bullies, but I always worked alone.

I didn't know how to express and communicate my feelings and my thoughts, but I could express them through anger and tantrums in words meant to kill spirits, and in evil looks and glances.

I didn't have close friends except for my siblings. 

But Jay treated me differently.  He treated me as his best friend.

When we were about at our 2nd decade of marriage, I really didn't put them into words all these years until my daughter asked him who's his best friend. 

"Your mama." he answered her proudly.

One time at a party, I couldn't find Jay, so I asked a friend Alan (RIP Alan) who I met at the stairs on his way up if the mister was downstairs. Then he yelled down and said, "Jay, gipangita ka sa imong kumander in chip!" (Jay, your commander in chief is looking for you.)

Was that a joke? 

I wasn't laughing. 

I also don't like when Filipino wives refers their husbands as their eldest son.

Come on! That's disrespectful to your mother-in-law. And even if it's a joke, it's still not funny. 

The mister treated me as his partner---with equal footing.

I am not Jay's commander. I am his partner.

He is not my eldest son. He is my partner. 

We are each others best friend. We are each others puzzle piece.

Those are some reasons why I chose him. 

The Mister At Work

I have been lacking sleep since this coronavirus outbreak reached Maryland.

I am scared, especially for the boy and me. You see, we are at a higher risk of getting sick. Our immune systems are compromised, and although we have been going through immunotherapy for almost a year.

When the news broke that the first case was in Montgomery County, I specifically asked the mister to not kiss or hug me when he gets home from work, and only until he washes and changes would he be free to do it.

For two days, he wasn't in the mood. He was so frugal with his conversations with me. It was in the 'super cold-shoulder' level.

But on Wednesday, March 19, he brought home a keyboard and other stuff from work and happily broke the news that he can work from home already.

He works in the family room and sometimes in the dining room with me. By the way, we both dress up for work and not in our pajamas. We share supawvisors now—Mordecai, Rigby, and Bowie. Since working from home, the three cats have been lounging and hanging out by his side of the workplace.

In the 30 years we're in a relationship, I learned that when he works, he really works. He isn't easily distracted. I can't chat with him or hang out in his space. He would totally ignore me...

...well, except when I serve lunch and offer mid-afternoon snacks.

A Late Night Phone Call

The mister went up to sleep ahead of me. We usually go upstairs together, but when he said he wanted to go, I said okay because I still have some things to finish in my shop. It was warm in our room already since I turned on our portable heater prior to him making me coffee earlier in the evening. Our centralized heating couldn't sufficiently produce heat on the second floor and most especially in our basement, and this is why we have portable heaters to those levels in our home. The one I use in our basement was a gift from our dear friend, Lea. Thank you, Miss Le!

#workinglate. @extrafunky made me a cup of coffee, and we shared a #bakeddonut. 😍😘 #listingsoon is a #vintage #ninaricci.

A post shared by Liliana oooh na na 😎 (@missnalupa) on Jan 27, 2018 at 7:46pm PST

It was 30 minutes past midnight when I got a phone call. I honestly thought the call was from my little sister in Australia. It's 4:30ish on a Sunday afternoon down under. She's the only person that would call at my ungodly hour.

But seeing the name of the caller on my phone screen came as a jolt!

((( IT'S THE MISTER!!! )))

"'lian, pwede dad-i ko ug tubig diri sa taas?" ('lian, can you bring up water for me?)

Wow! There is room service at home!?

Hehehe.

After I dropped the call, I got him water and brought it up immediately.

I knocked on our bedroom door, and slightly opened it.

"ROOM SERVICE!"

Then I slowly walked in, and there he was in bed under the cover, holding his newly bought book, Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.

Now that I know that there is room service at home, starting tomorrow night I'll make sure to go upstairs way ahead of the mister. Hehehe.

This is going to be a race from now on!

The Tattoo

I was coughing so hard last night that I had to settle in bed earlier than everyone in the house. You see, I have been sick, and somehow, I'd feel most awful during the evening. Thank God, I am scheduled to be seen by a specialist on Monday.

The mister brought the humidifier up to our room since I bring it down to the living room during the daytime. Then, excitedly, he said...

Him: Kahibaw na ko unsa akong ipa-tattoo! (I know now what to get for a tattoo!)
Me: HA?! 

Of course I gave him "the look" that I knew would definitely melt and clean the grime out of his senses.

Him: 

Pisting gi@t@y! Pardon my French (in Bisaya), but I really thought he was serious about it!

Him: Kani akong ipatattoo! (I want this for my tattoo.)

Then he showed me this.

...and that was when I knew he was really joking.

Hahahaha!

This was a drawing of me done by the young lady when she was home for her spring break. He hadn't seen this yet, and I guess he found out about it when he scanned a document last night. I remember, I left this there. This is so me with my black-framed eyeglasses, big pearls, my current hairstyle, and my favorite flowers.

Oh! By the way, I have nothing against tattoos. I know a lot of friends and family that have some. I know a couple of wonderful tattoo artists. I watched a tattoo reality series on Netflix. I appreciate wonderfully done tattoos, be they be in color or black and white. It's just that the idea of the mister with a tattoo hasn't been marinating well in my head yet.

For years, getting a tattoo has always been a joke in the family. If the children and I ask the mister what he'd get when he decides to get one, he'd always answer,

"A dragon on my forearm!"

And then he'd show us how big it will be—as big as a fly that you can hardly see!