I won’t quite be able to actually sigh with relief until all fifty packages from today’s sweater sale are in the mail on Monday. Right now they are piled in a small mountain in my ballroom. I am sleepy after answering over 200 emails and watching all sorts of emotions fly on Facebook. Who ever would have guessed that sweater-making could engender such a dramatic lifestyle!
Now that my work is done for the day, it is time to celebrate. I am not talking about celebrating the fact that I just sold fifty sweaters (I mean, Totally! Woo hoo! That IS a reason to celebrate!! Yes!!) More importantly, I need to celebrate with Mason because today is our Anniversary.
To give you one of many illustrations of how awesome Mason is, he didn’t get upset with me at all when I accidentally scheduled a sweater sale on our anniversary. Furthermore, when today’s work was done and our Anniversary should have properly begun, he was insistent that I take a moment to sit down and write first. How sweet is that? So, that is what I am doing now.
Here I am.
I have been broadcasting bits of my life on the Internet for a few years now, and along the way I stopped bothering to explain who Mason is. Occasionally I may cryptically refer to my business as “we,” while simultaneously claiming to be a one person operation. Mason is my man. He is the We. Today marks six years since our first date. He is pretty much the nicest person ever. It takes a special kind of gentleman to know how to be my co-pilot. I am such a specific combination of slapdash and peculiar that to thread the needle of making me happy is not a challenge for the meek.
As far as my business in concerned, I am an autocratic, workaholic grumpy-puss. Mason is the darling who will pop his head quietly into my lair and sweetly inquire, “Can I make you some tea darling?” just when I need it. He helps me tape up the packages after the sales, even if it means staying up til 3am.
Anytime a computer hiccup lasts more than 3 seconds I can just screech, “Maaaasoooonnn!!!” and he will run upstairs and quickly grab the computer from me and make it work again.
Mason takes all the photos for my Etsy page, and when I am not smiling enough he will do a silly little dance to make me laugh so that I don’t look quite so grim. (Ugh… I hate modeling!!!)
Basically, I have come to rely upon his help and his good judgment so much that Mason is an indelible part of my business. It is kind of unfair that I get all the glory. At this point, there is no Katwise without Mason.
My boyfriend is the perfect blend of nerd and Muppet. He is adorably friendly and fuzzy, with the fashion sense of a frumpy elderly gentleman. He has pleasant disposition of someone who has just awakened form a satisfying nap. Mostly because he probably actually DID just wake up from a nap. The boy naps a lot!
If you met him your first impression would just be, “Whoa, that person is ridiculously nice and I feel oddly compelled to hug him”. Upon meeting him for the first time my brother immediately turned to me and declared, “You know that if you two ever have kids, you are going to be the mean parent.” Sigh!
But then the opportunity would come for Mason to remark upon the repercussions of the Sepoy Mutiny or the conjugation of some Arabic verb, and you would be like, “Whoa, who IS this Mr. Smartypants?” He knows a lot of stuff about a lot of stuff. It is pretty cool. I hardly need Wikipedia. I can just be like, “Mason, what year did Bagdhad fall to the Mongols?” and he’d be like, “Funny you ask. That used to be my PIN number!”
I could go on about all the seethingly dorky books he reads, his vast fluency in Samurai movies, or his ability to quickly manifest puns so clever and cringe-inducing that you can’t help but laugh even though you feel disgusted at the same time. But basically I am just saying that he is brilliant, and I have found that I quite like having a boyfriend who is smarter than me.
I haven’t even mentioned the fact that Mason is a remarkable musician and he has filled my life with songs. One of the first moments I realized I could love him is when I heard him singing The Song of Wandering Angus. It tugged my heart.
Mason is a human jukebox. Witnesses can attest that, given a campfire and some fine Scotch, Mason Brown will SHUT-IT-DOWN. He will keep singing and singing and singing. You can call out a band name and he will sweetly demure, “Oh gosh, I don’t really know anything by them” and then proceed to sing six songs by them. It is like a superpower. You can sing along for half the night, stagger back to the house to get more wine, unintentionally fall asleep on the sofa for a while, wake up bewildered, binge eat some pie, wander back to the fire and THAT MAN WILL STILL BE SINGING. Not that this has ever happened to me personally… I mean, not since a couple of weeks ago.
Another one of the things that quickly endeared him to me is that he knows all the Irish tunes. I am an O’Sullivan. I was raised on that. You sing The Fields of Athenry and my eyes will mist up. A Nation Once Again and I am ready to take a bullet. You don’t understand. My father is such a sentimental Irishman that he will put on music too loud, and then inappropriately force everyone in the room to halt their conversations and listen to the lyrics as he stares off into the distance, drunk on nostalgia for the motherland. When I showed up with Mason and a mandolin in tow, it was probably the first time EVER that my Dad didn’t want to incarcerate a boyfriend of mine. I tell you, nothing lifts a family up like a rousing rendition of And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda (That is supposed to be funny for the four of you who know that song).
Anyhow, yeah. Mason is awesome. When friend found out that I started dating him, they were literally high-fiving me. Congratulating me. I scored.
I wanted to tell you about the first time I ever saw him. And then I wanted to tell you about how CLUELESS he was for SIX MONTHS that I was flirting with him (uggggg….. Kat rolls her eyes. Boys are so oblivious, right?) Then I wanted to tell you about how fun our first date was, or the sickeningly adorable things he did for me. And then how amazing it has been to go on this adventure with him for six years. But, it would be sort of ironic if I were up here telling you about how precious he is to me, when instead I could be sitting on the sofa eating ice cream with him RIGHT NOW.
Okay, wait, hold on – let me tell you JUST ONE cute thing he did for me, then I’m gonna let you go: Our first Valentine’s Day together he flew down to Ecuador to see me. He bought me 32 Valentine’s cards – one for each year before I met him. I know, that is sickening. Gross. But listen – they were MUSICAL Valentines card from the Polish 99-Cent store. They all played ultra crappy versions of either the Theme Song from Titanic or Fur Elise. Mason set the cards all up around the room. When you walked in, it was like this drunken stereo bumblebee chorus of utterly wretched, high pitched Celine Dion meets Beethoven, all out of sync. Come on you guys – How cute is that?? (Seriously, you should do it for your sweetie on Valentine’s too. I am telling you, it is a real panty dropper. No one has to know it wasn’t your idea.)
Oh, one more thing, in case you were not convinced of Mason’s awesomeness: The ice cream came from Stewarts (if you are from Upstate New York, I am pretty positive that you just said to yourself, “Oh, yum. Stewarts has the best ice cream.” I know, right?) Mason saw me at the the freezer case, paralyzed with the agonizing decision one often faces when buying ice cream: Do you go for the delectable cookie swirl, or classic peanut butter cups? How can you make the right choice there? There is too much at stake! It could be a total fiasco. Arg! Agony!!
Mason confidently took my hand and told me in an action hero voice to grab the cookie swirl flavor. Then he held up a separate bag of mini peanut butter cups and smiled. “Don’t worry baby. I got you covered.” Swoon! See what I mean? Awesome!
Please don’t bother leaving comments on this blog – too much SPAM. I want to hear what you think though – kindly comment on my Facebook page. And while you are there, check out Mason’s band, Not Waving but Drowning. Give ’em a like while you are at it.