So after two and a half hours of yardwork last night, Scott and I ditched our plans for an elaborate dinner in the dining room and hunkered over our leftovers on the couch together.
I was telling him about a card I received in the mail about my column -- from a woman I use as a source on a pretty regular basis -- when he took a really giant step for mankind -- and marriage.
"I know you really want me to ask questions about your eating disorder experience and talk about it, so I'm going to try here, but please realize I'm probably going to sound like an ass, although I don't mean to be an ass..."
"Umm, OK." With a forewarning like that, on a subject like this, I had to take an extra swig or two of my beer.
But what followed was a lengthy and yet really interesting discussion on how it started, what exacerbated it, who helped and who didn't, how it still effects me today and even, somehow, it's parallels to Scott's usage of chew tobacco. (After admitting to bulimia, I really don't feel the nerve to comment on how disgusting that habit is.)
It really meant a lot to me, and Scott didn't even come off as an ass, either. Just a curious guy from an area that somehow doesn't see much of mental illnesses, somehow.
The conversation even continued this morning. I reached for two books on our bookshelf in the guest room while Scott got our latest mouse trap victim and after I had made the bed in there: Motherless Daughters and Wasted (a memoir of anorexia and bulimia by Marya Hornbacher). I told Scott how they were two of the best books to get me through my dark times, or at least understand them a bit better, and then Scott shocked me yet again.
"Can you put that first one on my nightstand? I'm going to make an effort to read that. Maybe that will help me understand some things, too."
I don't know if I caught my jaw before it hit the ground or not, but I definitely put the book on his side of the bed.
Our conversation continued even as he walked out the door now to go get his passport taken care of (Did you know it's National Passport Day?).
"I'm glad we can talk about these things and I'm really happy you're in a better place that you can talk about it, even with an ass," he said as he kissed me goodbye.
Baby, you have no idea.
You have absolutely no idea.
I'd say the conversation might even continue when he gets home from some errands, but c'mon, we have a honeymoon to book! :-)
(No luggage, but a lot of baggage.)