There’s A Reason Why C. D. Blizzard Does Not Write Romance

My husband is one of the most romantic guys around.  He’s very sweet, kind, thoughtful, and generous.  I will often emerge from my office to find a flower on the kitchen table, waiting for me.  He sends me beautiful notes in my email.  Leaves me notes in the shower.  It’s all so wonderful.  So, why does he laugh whenever I say the word romance?

I guess I can’t blame him.  In fact, it’s really hard to be romantic when you’re with a total clutz.  I can mess up the most romantic of situations, all by accident, of course.  I’ll give you an example.  My husband and I love to go to certain nearby parks.  On a beautiful Fall day, we went to one such park where we liked to go sit near the “picture window” oak tree.  To get to this unusually shaped, and very ancient tree, we had to travel a narrow path through woods thick with small oaks that spread their branches all around, through, and over the narrow path.  My husband walked ahead of me, occasionally pausing to look back to see that I was okay.  I would smile, happy that he cared enough about me to check on me.

As we walked, he began to talk about how important I was to him, how much I meant to him, and how wonderful it was that we liked the same things.  He ducked under a thick oak branch as he spoke, never breaking his speech.

“I’ve always wanted to be with someone like y¾”

CLOP!!!

My husband stopped mid-sentence, and mid-stride.  After a split second pause he turned and looked back at me.  “Was that the sound of your head hitting that branch?”

I giggled.  In truth, I had hoped he wouldn’t notice that I’d just bashed my head on a very hard branch that sported some very rough bark, some of which was now pressed into my aching forehead.  (Hey, being tall sucks.  Sometimes I forget just how tall I am, and I apparently didn’t bend far enough down to get under this tree.)  Anyway, I was hoping he wouldn’t notice because I didn’t want anything to interrupt this wonderful stream of words flowing from his gorgeous mouth.  It was all too dreamy and romantic to interrupt.  Besides, I wanted him to finish because it was darn nice to hear all these good things.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.  Yeah, sure.  Fine.”  I gingerly rubbed my forehead.  “You were saying,” I prompted.

Hubby-Poo turned and proceeded forward along the path, ducking beneath yet another low-lying oak branch.  “I was saying that I’ve never been with anyone like you, and I’m so happy that we are together.  I’m so glad we¾”

CLOP!!!

My husband paused.  This time he didn’t turn back in a split second.  This time he simply stood with his back to me for a short time.  Still without turning, he said, “Was that your head hitting that second branch?”

I giggled.  He turned around and looked at me.  “Hun, what are the odds of that?”

I shook my head, giggling a little harder.  Sure, my head hurt like hell, but it was too funny.

He sighed.  “Are you okay?”

I nodded, pressed my lips together hard and tried to contain my giggles, which were growing by the minute.

“What’s so funny?”

I couldn’t answer.  I couldn’t even hold myself upright.  I collapsed onto my knees on the forest floor and proceeded to laugh until my sides hurt and I could barely take a breath.  My husband, staunch as he is, couldn’t take more than a minute of this.  He too began to laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he said between laughter.  “It’s not funny.  It’s just….”

“F-funny,” I said, the words exploding through more laughter.

“You know this could only happen to you,” he said.

“I know.”

“What am I gonna do with you?” he teased.

I shrugged.  He came back to where I was and put his hand out to help me off the forest floor.  “Are you gonna be okay?”

I nodded and wiped tears from my eyes.

“Does it hurt?”

I nodded.  “Some. But I’ll be okay.”

“You have bits of bark embedded in your forehead,” he said, gently brushing at my skin.  “And a big red mark.”

I tried to stifle giggles.  When I got myself under control, I said, “So, you were saying?”

“Can you make it to the tree?”

“Of course I can.”

He squeezed my hand.  “Okay, come on then.”  He turned back, ducked under the branch I’d just banged my head on and proceeded up the path.  “You know, I really¾”

CLOP!!!

This time I tried hard not to screech OWIE.  After so many bangs my forehead was getting very sore.

My husband’s back was to me, and he stood frozen on the path ahead.  After a rather long pause, without turning back to look at me, he said,  “Did you just bang your head on the oak branch that you already banged your head on?”

I clapped a hand over my mouth to try to hold back the raucous laughter that wanted to break through the pain of once again embedding oak bark into my forehead as I tried unsuccessfully to duck under the oak branch I’d just banged my head on moments earlier.

Finally, after a few minutes, my husband slowly turned and looked at me. “Do you think you can make it back to the car without knocking yourself out?”

I nodded, my hand still squeezed over my mouth to hold back the laughter.  This time, he took my hand and went with me through the trees, pushing my head down as we went under the branches to prevent me from knocking my head on the trees.

Back at the car, he said again, “What am I gonna do with you?”

I shrugged, gave him a quick kiss, and grinned back at him.

“You’re awful cute, though.”  He smiled.  “Can’t take you anywhere, but you’re awful cute.”

Copyright 2008 C. D. Blizzard    www.cdblizzard.com

C. D. Blizzard is the author of the novels Blackwater, Broken, and Profile.