minalisms

Call me what you will, but there are days when I don’t want to share my husband with anybody, not his clients nor his friends, not even his family.

Because after 40-plus-hour workweeks and agendas and impromptu errands and frenetic meal preparations and follow-up chores and ladies nights one evening and tennis matches the next and, oh yeah, sleep, I am territorial about my time with my spouse. In fact, if it weren’t such a crazy move, I’d post a big “Do Not Disturb” sign outside our front door because that’s how much I mean it.

I love Ben because he gets this.

This past weekend, seeing that I was in need of mellow couple time, he took me out on dates. Dates that included sushi, “Julie & Julia,” an art fair, Nutella and a lazy drive one night; and beers, burgers, a nighttime stroll and reminiscing on another.

As I waited to fall asleep late Sunday, I felt like my heart was going to explode from contentment and gratitude. And that is precisely why I married him.

It may not seem like much to you, but the 16th of each month is a momentous day.

It is the one day that I am sure to hear from my mom, who sends me a sweet, celebratory note commemorating the birth of her daughter — Minal — and the arrival of a son — Ben.

See. Momentous.

I am obsessed with Bridget Jones.

In the past three weeks, Bridget Jones’s Diary has probably aired about nine times on the Oxygen network. In that same timeframe, I think I’ve stopped to watch the movie four times, ecstatic no matter how much I’ve missed or how much of the movie is left.

Today would’ve been a fifth if Ben hadn’t started laughing, thrown his head back in surrender and teased, “Oh, my god! You’ve watched this the same amount of times that I’ve watched ‘Ghostbusters‘!”

For the record, that statement is completely false. Ben has probably watched “Ghostbusters” 40 times.

But, I digress.

Bridget Jones — played flawlessly by Renée Zellweger — is my hero, though she comes in second to Tina Fey.

Jones’s challenging love life, her frequent calamities, her failed resolutions, her boozing and her big butt contribute immensely to her charm. She reminds me of myself and some of the harrowing tribulations I’ve overcome in years past (sans the boozing).

And that comparison, I find, makes me irresistible.

My husband is under the impression that if he creates more blogs for me to oversee, I will somehow transform into a dedicated writer who pens something profound and comical and engaging and notable each day.

This is what love does — it instills so much optimism in people. Sheesh. Ben clearly has overlooked my less-than-stellar performance on this site.

Nevertheless, I think you should go here today to peruse the news and views of two and see what ensues in saint lou.

You will not be disappointed. Not yet at least.

I’m typing this blog entry with eyes shut, listening to Ben read my words aloud from a scribbled sheet of paper.

I’m certain I’ll make mistakes along the way, but I’m also certain that I’ll be pleasantly surprised by how much I get right.

Therein lies the lesson of trying.