Some people find their partner in life early and skip all the nonsense of dating in college or adult years. Although for me, that nonsense time was needed and did me some good.
I knew ASU Greg was temporary, he didn't do very well in school and he smoked the reefer. But I liked the Brooklyn accent, it reminded me of the Beastie Boys and his friends were fun to hang out with. It was during the Greg experience, however, that I learned an important feature for future husband shopping (wait for it). I remember distinctly the night I sat and observed Greg at a party. He was the lampshade-on-the-head guy: being silly and making everyone laugh. I was the instant wall flower before I get through the front door. All the while, I took note of something interesting happening to me: I was getting jealous.
Didn't he know I like the spotlight? Didn't he realize I want to be the funny one? Didn't he know it was my job to make people laugh while he admired me from the sidelines? Didn't he know it's not nice to steal my thunder? Damn you Greg, you spotlight stealer. This relationship isn't going to work anymore.
Fast forward to 2007. My husband and I move into a new ward and we are asked to give talks. Mine was ill prepared and pieced together from an old talk I had given in the past. I blew through it quickly because I knew it was not one of my better, more spiritual mornings. Mike, however, delivered the most hilarious combination of words a congregation will ever hear. I sat stunned in the pew while dozens of adult men and women made a reverent ruckus the entire 10 minutes he had the floor. It was like a contained, well groomed, clean and uplifting comedy night. After church people flocked to shake his hand and introduce themselves to him. He even turned to me confused and commented on how Liz is usually the funny one, not Mike.
It was that night at the party all over again. I wanted to stand up in the middle of the closing hymn and clear things up, both arms high in the air. Excuse me, everyone, over here! Just to clarify, (exaggerated pointing to my head) I am the funny one! Me, right here. I am one that is supposed to make you laugh, not him! Can we have a do-over?
Him? He, (exaggerated pointing to his head) he is the serious one. Talk to him about sports and politics, (pointing to me again) come to me for the laughs. Then I would sit down and press out the wrinkles from my skirt and proceed to sing the hymn.
I was steaming on the inside, ready to skip the rest of church and walkstomp home (as if a major offense occurred). How dare he be the funnier one.
Don't get me wrong, Mike has a great sense of humor and cracks me up. It's just that he doesn't desire to be center stage nearly as much as his wife does. I had not realized The Greg Moment was so important until I experienced the Mike Comedy Hour at church and appreciated that the roles we naturally fall into most of the time compliment one other well. When Mike and I arrive to the party he finds the lampshade and hands it to me before he takes a seat. Even if no one else is listening, he's my Sideshow Bob during my own episodes of Krusty the Liz Show (before Bob's villainous homicidal maniac years).
And luckily he has since adjusted his perception by being the one in Sunday School to offer controversial remarks. Like the way he thinks some things in this world just plain suck for no good reason at all. His example was children being sold as sex slaves in other countries. High Five, Mike! Way to bring down the house and make me look like a superstar for talking about spaceships going really fast.
in summary: i am a dork and rolled my eyes as i wrote about me up there. and i am glad i learned early on i needed to be married to someone with a personality much different than mine.