This Is An Essay I Wrote About Larami, To Whom I’m Married. It Is Exactly 803 Words. That Number Has No Real Significance. She Turned 31 Today. Neither Does That One.

Larami Serrano, wife, mother, avid skydiver

Larami and I have been properly married for a little over three years, but we’ve unofficially been married for about ten years now. I met her in college after Christmas break my freshman year.

A Quick Aside: Early on in her college career, Larami was very insular. She was on friendly terms with, maybe, six people on campus, one of which was Nigerian, another of which was promiscuous and another of which gave people henna tattoos for money. This made her seem very mysterious, which made her unintentionally sexy (the best kind of sexy). To this day she swears this wasn’t the case, and that even if she were sexy, it wasn’t her intention, a fact that should serve as proof that it was, in fact, the case.

Among those that know her, Larami is generally regarded as the best person on the planet. And I would have to say that I agree with that sentiment. She is the source of an endless amount of joy for me. I can not think of one thing that has happened to me since I’ve known her that didn’t make me think, “Oh, man. I can’t wait to see what Larami has to say about this.”

I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time wondering what Larami will say about things. I find myself wanting interesting things to happen simply so I can tell her about them. Sometimes I even make stories up to tell her, to which she’ll respond, “OH MY GOD! REALLY?!,” to which I respond, “No, not really,” to which she responds with an irksome frustration that manifests itself in a semi-flirtatious sigh. She’s a wonderful creature.

Larami has beautiful eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like hers on a woman before. They look at me with love and sincerity and warmth and trust. She knows that I will always protect her, and I know that she knows this, and it makes me feel manly. I’ve imagined in my head implausible situations where someone asks me to explain why I love Larami so much (for whatever reason, this typically happens when I’m about to take a shower). I’m not sure what my full answer to that would be, but I know somewhere in there would be talk of her eyes. 

One time she rode in a blue plastic tote down a flight of stairs for a reason that I don’t remember. It was remarkable. I’m not certain why that memory sticks out in my brain, but it does. I’d probably talk about that too.

One time in the infancy of our relationship Larami pressured me into going to a restaurant that she liked that she wanted to take me to. It was a warm gesture, but I didn’t want to go because I was (am) a moron. But I went. It was a nice restaurant. I wore a muscle shirt and this curious old fur coat that she had. Another time she asked me to go run errands with her, one of them being a trip to Old Navy. Old Navy is the worst place in the world. I wore basketball shirts and calf-high black socks and dress shoes. I was very passive aggressive early in our relationship, apparently. She talks about those instances still. I’d probably talk about that too.

I’ve worked hard to make sure Larami understands how completely I love her and everything that she is. Even still, I’m positive that I’ve failed. I get paid by people to write about all sorts of things –mostly measuring absolutely subjective things with an objective lens. And I’m told that I’m very good at this. Yet I can’t figure out what to say or do to relay something as basic as the entirety of my love for her to her. This causes me no cognitive dissonance whatsoever.

I play this game in my brain when Larami and I go somewhere where I look around and see who the prettiest person in the room is. I’ve yet to find anybody more attractive than Larami. She hates this game.

This essay is far from linear; I understand that. But that’s the effect thinking about Larami tends to have.

I’m happy when she’s around, and I’m a train wreck when she’s not. Everything that she’s involved with is better and everything that she isn’t involved with sucks. When I look at her, I want to kiss her. I want to experience new things with her. I want to never have her not want me around. I want it to be her when the phone rings, even when it isn’t my phone. I want to jump out of planes with her and go to Europe with her and eat food I don’t like with her and watch Jersey Shore with her.

I’d probably talk about that too.

I love that woman.