When we were dating the Spouse gave me a nickname. It was really a CB handle, because we were going four-wheeling and taking CB radios. So he called me Haystack, because, he said, you're my needle in a haystack.
I remember thinking he was so sweet to call me that, and I remember how special it made me feel, and then we dated some more and got engaged and got married and I was a Wife with a house to keep and noses to wipe, all business, get out of my way, and I stopped feeling like Haystack at all.
But last weekend I got a fever and had lots of weird dreams and a few strange, hallucinatory ideas for blog posts, and I sort of woke up from all that and realized that he still thinks of me as Haystack. It's me who's changed.
Have you ever asked yourself, why does he love ME? I have, because to be honest, most of the time I don't feel very lovable and I think I know why.
In my mind's eye, the sort of woman the Spouse deserves, the Real Haystack, is cheerful and thankful and willing to get cold if he wants to go hiking. She cooks and cleans like me, but she doesn't flip out when the dog tracks in mud or the boys smear the windows, because she loves the dog and is just glad she has children to smear windows. She keeps herself nice, which I try to do, but she doesn't get all crabby when she has to leave the house looking less than perfect. She believes him when he says she looks good. She kisses him first, and she goes camping even though going to the bathroom outdoors at 2am in the cold is not her favorite.
So, meeting the real Haystack is like reaching a fork in the road, and if I choose the correct fork, I know what I have to do:
Act like her.
