I left my sneakers in the gym yesterday so when I got dressed for a morning walk with HOBB through Morningside and Central Parks, I had no choice but to wear my Doc Martens.
"You look like a German dominatrix," HOBB observed when I emerged from our bedroom wearing running shorts and black hiking boots.
Checking my reflection in the mirror, I had to agree. Partially. Leather was needed to complete the look. So I grabbed my sleeveless faux leather motorcycle vest from H&M.
"I actually think I look more like a gay guy circa 1985," I opined, presenting my complete outfit.
HOBB rolled his eyes and seemed to reconsider whether he wanted to be seen with me in public.
The thing about Manhattan is that no matter how extreme your outfit, you tend to blend into the general landscape. Last week, when I was bolting through Times Square, the sight of The Naked Cowboy -- in his signature tightie-whities -- seemed as tame as the giant plushies that have taken over that part of town.
Faces lifted towards the sun, we walked east through Morningside Park, which might as well have been a lovely Dutch village, with all its tulips and daffodils. We proceeded into Central Park, filled with runners, bicyclists and a police investigation. Heading toward the reservoir, we began discussing plans for upcoming dinner parties.
A disagreement ensued.
As I remarked to a friend yesterday, of the two imperfect states of being -- singledom and marriage, by which I mean a committed partnership -- marriage is the less imperfect.
Nevertheless, it should not be confused with a relationship of eternal harmony.
Constructive arguments are an essential component of good communication.
Some relationships that appear admirably peaceful are actually parve and devoid of passion.
I admit I am a warrior, hard-wired to fight for what I believe in.
Yet, if I go too far, I shape-shift into a dominatrix, whipping things back into shape, restoring the integrity of the life-long partnership that is perfect in its very imperfection.