"An Open Letter to EHarmony.com"

Dear EHarmony.com,

Where the hell were you when I met SugarAnne?! I’ll tell you where you were. You were nowhere. You were frickin’ nowhere because you weren’t even launched until August 2000. Hell I was already stir frying in the marital wok like moo shoo pork.

But if you were there back then we would’ve been the same – or at least similar. We would have the same interests, hobbies, principles and habits. We would have the same (bing!) hell, I coulda married myself if you were here back then. 

Instead we’re opposites. We're virtual opposites. It’s gotta be some kind of miracle that we get along at all. God probably keeps us together so that he can have a really loud belly laugh at lunch when he’s standing around the water cooler with legions of angels.

Damn you EHarmonyDOTcom! Damn frickin youuuu!! How am I supposed to get along with someone so opposite of me?!

She is a starter: with all of her great ideas and zeal up front;

I’m a finisher: Deliberate determined committed to the very end.

I am a morning person: More done before 7 than most people do all day;

She an evening person: Often awake for a while after I’ve crashed out.

Me? Even-tempered and unexpressive;

She? Emotional: face quick to betray her feelings.

The other day she woke up with a face longer than an early morning shadow. I didn’t know if she was in a “crumble into a puddle of tears at the drop of a dime” sorta mood. Or if she was on the cusp of vomiting up the slime of some perimenopausal demon. My first thought was to “paddle whack her knick knack”. That’s always my first thought because it tends to help her (and it gets the dog a "bone"). But that’s never my only thought. I try to do something else before I take that route. So I decided that we would shower together.

If you had existed back then EHarmonydotCOM I’m sure we would’ve figured out that:

She likes hot showers; I like cool showers.

I like short showers; She likes long showers.

Uuggh!! Frickin’ ugh.

Where were you when I needed you?! I had to discover all this the old-fashioned way because YOU WEREN’T THERE!

I didn’t wanna retreat on her. Retreating makes the day worse. And I didn’t want to tolerate this mood of hers. Tolerating makes for a mountain of resentment. I wanted to move her out of this. I wanted to be e-ffective: to go in there and slay this embryonic beelzebub; and I wanted to be a-ffective: to move her body with my body. And I needed to do it in way that was beyond rubbing up against her like a horny leg-humpin’ dog. Even though she likes horny leg-humpin’ dogs.

So borne of a desire to connect (and my own pure genius of course), I said to Her Royal (on the edge of depression) Sweetness,

“SugarAnne, we’re going to ‘bridge’ our showers today.”

"’Bridge’ our showers? “The long early morning shadow had scrunched up like the bellows of a hard pressed accordion.

"Yes ‘briiiiiidge’ our showers.” The short "i" arched from my chair creating a bridge to her ears on the sofa. 

"What do you mean ‘bridge’ our showers?”

I crossed the bridge and plopped my nakedness prostrate upon her own and began my horny leg-humping dog routine. I DID NOT learn that from you EHarmonyDOTcom. I thought of that leg humping thing all on my own! You probably don’t even have any horny leg-humpin’ dog questions on your website do you? 

“I’m going to go in and start my shower” (hump-hump)

“And when I’m ready I’m going to call you in.” (hump-hump).

“We’ll shower for a short time together” (hump-hump, winky-wink)

“And then I’ll leave you to finish at the temperature of your liking” (humpity-hump-hump-hump).

“Got it?” Slow nod. “That’s ‘bridging’ our shower. That way we get to enjoy each other.”

And that’s what we did. We 'bridged' to connect and it saved the day. That’s how we’ve handled our many acute differences: we connect with bridges.

Me, I’m essay (see this “wordy-logged” blog); Her, she's storyteller (see her word efficient blog).

She's drama (she picks the best movies); I’m romantic comedy (I pick the worst movies).

I’m cats (“Cats are just animals”); She’s dogs (“Dog’s are people too!”).

She’s a maximumist (every open space must be filled!); I’m a minimalist (“Put that thing away!”).

I’m socially conservative (“Just do the right thing”); She’s socially liberal (“Just do anything!”).

Our bridges range from the precarious rope bridge requiring lots of blance; to tippy toe wood bridge with the missing planks; to sturdy concrete bridges that are easy to walk across. They keep us connected and yet we remain ourselves.

Oh by the way, I’m foreplay (slow pet; long sniff); She’s intercourse (“Quick, just get it stiff!”).

And in that regard “this thing we do" is a huge suspension bridge that handles lots of paddle traffic.

We're as different as Brooklyn and Manhattan SugarAnne and me. But we're the same city - connected by our bridge. She’s she. And I’m me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. God knew what he was doing when he brought us together EHarmonyDOTcom! He knew we would've never, ever found each other through you.

Signed,

Miserably Happy and in Love Without You