minalisms

Tonight, on the eve of the Indian New Year, Ben sent my family, friends and other loved ones a Diwali greeting.

He understood the importance of the occasion among Indians, so he spent part of his workday creating beautiful, unique designs and sending them to me for my feedback and approval. He was excited to share them with me.

“No, don’t use black,” I advised in Round 1.

“Wait, put the stars back in,” I requested in Round 2

“Hmm…I kind of liked the other one,” I offered in Round 3.

This was my feedback — a lot of ‘do this, do that’ mumbo-jumbo.

And though he always welcomes my reviews — even when they’re mainly comprised of criticism — here’s what I left out:

“Thank you, Ben. Thank you for cherishing my culture, traditions and my family. You, too, are cherished.”

I’m not sure what I am searching for. I just know that I haven’t found it yet.

At a young age, I remember telling my cousins that when I find someone stellar to marry I am going to tell the whole world. I was talking about megaphones, newspaper announcements and marching bands.

Decades later, I’m a bit more modest about my plan. I’ve skipped the excessiveness but kept the sentiment.

And thanks to my immeasurably talented, artistic and geeky fiancé, I can still announce it to the world.

Why does the request “Smell my finger” bring on such dreadful disgust?