A Night of Romance
That’s what it’s called, except the words are in Spanish at my wife’s University, and college students have organized the dinner. They serve appetizers, and when dinner is ready we get up from our table and go to the buffet to receive individual portions from tray pans.
Mariachi singers perform for us, and I never knew I liked that music until I hear it. And it’s not the trumpet, or the guitars, but the voices singing together above the din of the crowd and their own instruments, trying to be heard.
While all of this is going on, we talk and notice that our table is less romantic than others.
Look, I say, some tables have balloons and some have candles.
Yes, I noticed that, she says.
Do you want to sit at a table with candles? I ask her.
And we look at the candle arrangements. Every table with candles has a heartshaped dish to hold them, and in the dishes sit many candles. Lit up and out in the open, the candle flames are bright and hurt the eyes to look at.
Balloons are fine, she says.
I’m glad until I realize why. She doesn’t want me near fire.
My wife–keeping me safe since 1997.
felixnation :: Mar.11.2007 :: Conversations, Odysseys, wife :: No Comments »