You Can’t Tell Me No
I met my wife when I was eleven.
She played little league baseball and the rules of little league said that every player on the team had to play at least 2 innings.
Which meant that even the girls got to play.
She played right field and used to pull her hat way down where you could barely see her eyes.
Me and my friends knew that we could always go for extra bases if we went opposite field and slapped one to right field — at least for the two innings that she was in the game.
Her team sucked.
Mine went 18-0 and won the city championship.
And that is when she started hating me.
It continued on through high school when I would walk behind her and ask her things like “do you want fries with that shake?” or “are you really going to marry that boy that thinks he is your boyfriend?”
She sat in the front row and got straight A’s.
I sat in the back and accidentally graduated.
And when the time came where she had a weak moment because that other guy wasn’t being nice to her…
I pounced.
There is a fine line between love and hate you know — and sometimes getting someone to cross that line with you just takes them being in a slightly altered state of mind.
And almost seventeen years later, my eleven year old daughter told her the other day:
“Mom, dad is like your boyfriend who doesn’t like your kids.”
Told you there is a fine line between love and hate.