A funny thing happened last night on our date to La Placita.
We ate the same food we always eat.
We left the kids with the same instructions to eat macaroni and cheese.
We drove off in our white car.
All the usual.
We wove another uninterrupted strand of conversation encircling the regular topics of our lives.
We didn’t talk about our marriage* or anything metaphysical like,
“Should we send Daniel to a charter school?”
(Though Richard tried.)
No– last night was an airing of a commonplace conversation.
But even though we didn’t talk about our marriage directly,
I felt the line between “he” and “me” in our conversation begin to blur.
Our minds met, overstepping previous lines of demarcation:
I spoke a little more about politics; He, a little more about my church calling.
I realized that though our hearts learned to communicate first,
Our minds, sympathies and opinions are becoming less “his” and “hers” varieties today.
And these sympathies meet in our brief and precious dates over chips and salsa,
Further defining our marriage.