High Maintenance

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 11, 2012 8:15 PM, EST

High Maintenance

When I first met Nathan, I was "dating" Jackson. Mind you, he was in Alabama, and I was in Wisconsin. I was living with Mama, and there were rules. But I was twenty-one, and there wasn't a rule that said that I had to stay at home all the time. One month into school, and I was dying to go out and meet some people my own age. Several of my classmates and I were on Dan (aka, Tugboat) Call's boat in the middle of Lake Mendota the first time Nathan asked me out. It wasn't so much asking me out as it was letting me tag along with him and his 4 roommates on State Street. I knew that Mama wasn't going to be wild about the idea of me pulling an all-nighter with 5 guys I had never met, so I asked classmate Mary Ann to tag along. She agreed, and then she asked me who my plastic surgeon was. Those were the days, when Bess and Gretchen were high and mighty. I knew I liked her.

Mary Ann bailed on me that night, but I was already dressed, and I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to explore the whole new world of college life in Madison, Wisconsin. So I called the next best thing to a girl in my class...I called Travis. Travis seemed like the perfect guy to stand by me all night so that I wasn't left alone with some strange young men...I was pretty sure that he was gay. As it turns out, Travis wasnot gay, nor was he interested in hanging out with me all night. In fact, he was a strapping young guy on a mission to hit on every girl on State Street that night, and I was left to fend for myself. Nathan and I connected right away...we talked about school, he laughed about my accent, and his friends were respectful. We decided that we should study together, and that was it. 

We spent many a night on State Street, which is a non-drivable route connecting the University of Wisconsin campus to the state Capitol. It is beautiful at all times of year, no matter the weather. State street is lined with bars, unique boutiques, gift shop treasures, a popcornery, fabulous restaurants, and more bars. In 12 inches of snow, the street is lined with glistening white lights trimming the trees. In the Spring, protesters line the street, marching to any cause. On Halloween, the State Street party rivals a New Orleans Mardi Gras. And in any given season, the street is lined with college kids and Peter Pans alike. Each crowd has its own niche - we spent many a night at Mondays, The Pub (aka, The Pube), State Street Brats, Paul's Club, or Bullfeather's (which was a little "off State"). 

We partied hard, but we had work to do. It was time to hit the books, and school was not easy. So we started studying, I broke up with Jackson, and then Nathan and I started dating. After about 3 months, I told Nathan that I was offering him an "easy out." I told him I was high maintenance, to which he replied, "I can handle that." It was so grounded and nonchalant - like, "No biggie. I got this." I furrowed my brow, and I ducked my chin, and I said, "I don't think you understand. You're going to be stuck with me, and I'm giving you an 'out.' You should really take it...because I am really high maintenance."

One night at Bullfeather's Nathan and I were talking one minute about how his birthday was coming. He was going to be twenty-one. I was so excited. He kept playing it cool, telling me that there was not going to be any difference in 20 and 21. And the next minute, he was gone. Vanished. And I thought, "This is it. He decided I was high maintenance." I asked his friends where he went - they told me he was in the bathroom, then motioned behind me. I turned to find that the cops were raiding the bar, checking IDs. After the coast was clear, and Nathan was back by my side, I (with raised eyebrows) said, "That's how it's going to be different when you are 21." And suddenly I wondered if he wasn't the high maintenance one! 

Here we are, a little over 10 years later. He is so stuck with me. And even I  couldn't have known just how high maintenance I would be! We have a down comforter that I throw onto him every night; our heater is set on 68 degrees because I can't stand the hot flashes; I still can't lift the kids, so Nathan is on carpool duty to and from daycare; I go to the filling station every other week (and complain for 3 days about the pain - and I admit that pain makes me a complete and total butt. I mean, I have no patience for anything after I get "filled."); I have no boobs, a serious pixie cut (which I am rocking, by the way!), and a big hormone surge after my monthly tic-tac shot in the belly. I am a peach to be around most days, but about 15% of the time I am a rotten peach (with a worm crawling through it). That 15% of the time, I am a spitfire with a temper and a hot flash, and I have little patience for whining or an "I can't" attitude. But then again, I never had much patience for those things to begin with.

I get filled again on Friday. I'm not looking forward to the pain, but I am sooo looking forward to the cleavage! Bring on the "breast mounds!" I think I have 2 more fills to go, and then we start planning my reconstruction. Goodbye, PITAs; Hello Shelby and Yvette!

Happy 2012!

Bean