We both love people.
She loves hordes of them
especially they’re when gathered together.
I love them one or two at a time,
and I need space between them
because no matter how much I love them,
people make me tired.
She picks up the phone and calls.
I prefer texting.
She loves to cook.
I hate it.
(Though I do manage to kinda’ almost sorta’ like it
once or twice a year.)
She refuses to give up a single one
of her umpteen thousand plates.
I gave away all mine
when we moved to the mountain top 3 years ago
and haven’t looked back once.
She can grow anything.
I can kill a plastic rubber plant.
She has good taste.
I have taste buds.
She knows how to accessorize with lamps.
I know how to turn them off and on.
She keeps a teeny tiny little calendar,
the same kind every year.
Has for decades.
I spend the better part of four months delightedly
planning and conjuring and creating
what my next year’s planner will be like.
What size it’ll be.
What I’ll note and track.
What colors I’ll use.
I am a big noticer and lover of details.
She overlooks many things like
the difference in her panties and mine
when unloading the dryer.
I am on a first name basis with silence
don’t get to spend nearly enough time with it.
She never met 30 seconds of silence
she didn’t fill.
I take after my daddy.