Extreme Northwest Correspondent: Forgive Me, Facebook

(From Cait: Mea culpa...this was supposed to be posted in early May, after Britt had gotten back from Hawaii. However, I got swallowed by life for two months. Britt is always worth waiting for, though!)

By: Britt Behm, Extreme Northwest Correspondent

Forgive me Facebook, for I have sinned.

No, I’m not Catholic, but for as guilty as I am (but don’t feel), I thought I would get a few things off my chest.

During my honeymoon, when my darlingest lovest of my life was driving me to the brink of insanity – it was faster than walking – I joked about just marrying him for his life insurance policy. He doesn’t actually have one, but I admit I fleetingly wondered if speedy widowhood would not suit me.

Mostly this was while the good March Warden, to who I am bound in connubial, conjugal, joyous and aggravated wedded bliss, was marching me around Waikiki at speeds that would make Andretti proud.

I finally remarked that if he wanted to continue at such breakneck paces perhaps he should have married someone with longer legs.

He suggested corrective surgery.

After a day of that, I was salmon pink all over and headed towards an interesting shade of fuchsia. I begged for more Aloe gel, a hat and a sarong to use as a wrap. What I got was sun block and a sarong.

Many times I insisted on bottled water (the tap water there was NOT to be trusted). Upon a stop at a Chevron store after our visit to Pearl Harbor, my dearest asked if I wanted anything. I replied, “Water, please, for the love of God, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the Apostles, John the Baptist, the Holy Spirit and all else that is Holy, WATER!” [i]

He came back out with an orange Fanta. At my query, his reply was, “I thought you said ‘whatever’.”

Also, I bought a pack of Camel Menthol Crush. I smoked about half to two thirds of the pack. Joe had the rest. I feel the barest twinge of a craving right now. I refuse to give in, if only because the novelty of smoking while on vacation, thousands of miles away while I was strongly buzzed, appeals to me.

There was no one we knew there. If people saw us on one of our last nights there, walking the main strip of Waikiki with rum on our breath, giggling to each other and holding hands, who were they going to tell? More people we didn’t know?

If we maybe got a little loud (amorously) in our hotel room a few nights before that thanks to a bottle of Turkey, I only hope our fellow hotel dwellers could appreciate that it was the result of three and a half years together, celebrating a marriage by delayed honeymoon three months in, balmy plumeria scented nights, and cigarette scented confessions of devotion, adoration and love.

That is why I don’t regret those stolen moments of my temporary slide back into a bad habit.

Even after the frequent frustration of failed communication, the jokes about life insurance, and the excruciating walks, what stands out the clearest and dearest are the rare instances my husband reached for my hand on a hot crowded street in bright daylight.

The moments my lips sought his for an all too brief rush of emotion as we walked lamp-lit sidewalks.

The few precious times he whispered his feelings to me and I told him that with all my heart I thought about him in the morning and in the night and that I loved him with all the passion of the Song of Solomon. [ii]

So maybe I haven’t sinned, so much as found my secret place with my husband. Even if it is smoky and costs nine dollars a pack.

It’s worth it.

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[i] Actually, what I said was, “Water.”

[ii] If you read nothing else of the Bible, one of the ‘books’ within it that I highly suggest is the Song of Solomon, also known as the Song of Songs. It is romantic, racy, passionate and loving. It’s beautiful. And my pastor read a piece of it at my wedding. I almost fanned myself right there at the front of the church at the alter, it’s that heated. I think it sets the tone of our wedding just right!