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I’m going to half-heartedly apologize in advance to my husband for the following post, which might implicitly (or explicitly) assert that he has brain damage.
For months, I have been talking about how I want to visit Rome and the Vatican while we are living in Germany. Paul has adamantly–ADAMANTLY–insisted that he has no interest in Rome, and even less interest in the Vatican. While this in itself seems a little crazy, we’ll allow it.
During our many discussions about Rome, Paul helpfully tossed around ideas for how I could get myself to Rome without him. He suggested I take Sequoia, just the two of us. He suggested I find some friends and flit off for a girls’ weekend. Anything but drag him to Rome or the Vatican.
Tailoring my argument to my audience, I came at it from the perspective of visiting the heart of Catholic corruption in the good old days of the Three Musketeers. No dice. Our discussions were detailed enough that I brought up how traveling alone with Sequoia meant that we would stay at a nice (pricey) Marriott property, not a hit-or-miss cute (thriftier) alley apartment with a pickpocketer stationed outside the door. He nodded. He got it. He wasn’t going to Rome.
Okay, then…I gave up. I’m going to Rome without you, Paul.
Today, while making a handful of summer travel arrangements, I looked into flights to Rome on Lufthansa (because God knows Sequoia and I don’t fly cheap airlines). I was pleased to find reasonable prices on dates I wanted to fly. Paul walked into my office just as the final confirmation popped up, and this exchange ensued:
Me: “Sequoia and I are going to Rome.”
Paul: “Oh, yeah? When?”
Me: “August.”
Paul paused, with a hint of betrayal on his face, then said: “I would have gone.”
I could not believe my ears. Could not believe them. But one thing is true: I have betrayed him. I have betrayed him by not seeking medical attention for clear signs of brain damage.
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