Last night hubby Mark reminded me about a humor column I wrote about a romance-impaired woman (me) marrying a romantic man like Mark. He thinks it’s the perfect column to post on Valentines Day, so here’s how Romancing The Stoic begins:
Romancing The Stoic
By Madeleine Begun Kane
“We’ve lost power!” I shrieked, as the lights went out and a Brahms concerto stopped mid-cadenza. “It’s okay,” my husband Mark said, in a futile attempt to calm me down. For already I was ransacking the house in search of flashlights, candles, matches and batteries. And as usual, I’d hidden them away in a safe and elusive spot.
“Don’t worry,” Mark said, when he finally had my attention. “We’ll bundle up in front of the fireplace. We’ll eat by candlelight, sip wine, and talk. It’ll be nice. You won’t even miss the light.”
That episode, which climaxed in a delightful, albeit light-impaired evening, illustrates our differences in the romance department. A quick bit of history: More than thirty years ago Mark proposed on his knees in the middle of the street, while I rushed to brush off his pants. His encore the next night was to supplement his weekly floral offering with a pair of crystal candlesticks. I, of course, fretted about their price.
Mark went through with the wedding, despite my apparent lack of the romance gene. Perhaps he felt he had sentiment enough for two. Or maybe he thought I’d come around some day — that my romantic spirit was merely submerged, just waiting to be tapped. … (Romancing The Stoic continues here.)
