My Honor!

You stepped back toward me, “Could you please zip me up?”

“Yes, yes, I can. It would be my honor!” You look at me in the mirror with this quizzical look on your face, then start the smallest of grins.

“Oh, I like that.” You smile at me.

Photo by Katerina Holmes on Pexels.com

“Please continue that this evening. Yes, I think that will be nice…”

We’re headed out to dinner, to relax, talk a lot, poke fun at each other and just enjoy some time out. I look at you, my own questioning look on my face now.

“I’m not sure I underst…” I start.

“You can simply close off your responses to any requests or questions or references to me in that way. That will be fun!” You smile, kiss me, then walk out of the room.

I get that swish feeling that zaps through me. Yes, yes, that will be fun.

As I open the door for you to leave the house, you smile and say thanks. “It’s my honor” I say, sheepishly. “Yes, exactly like that,” you say. “That will be nice.” I nod, almost like a knight would to his queen. “…mmmm, and that.” you say quietly.

At the restaurant, you pause at the door, people behind us, waiting for me to open it. Just a slight swish of your hand to indicate I should open it, even before I’d arrived. “It would be my honor,” I say, smiling. That same smile returns to your face as well.

As we walk up to the host podium, you tell me to “Please let them know about our reservation…”

“It would be my honor,” I say, and explain our requests. They look at me a bit strangely for a moment, but it passes when I smile, looking back at you, taking you in.

At the table, all through dinner, you tell me what you’d like to order, request a refill on your wine, all of it. You’re just a beat ahead so you can tell me what you need, so I’ll have the chance to restate my commitment.

“Please order the chardonnay” “Yes ma’am, it would be my honor”

“More wine, please…” “It would be my honor”

“I’d like the carrot cake for dessert please,” “Yes, of course. It would be my honor,” I say, ordering with the waiter.

By the time dinner is over, you’ve settled well into the rhythm, and I’ve done pretty well at not missing a step. The one time I did miss, it seemed like the world stopped spinning, the entire restaurant went silent, everything slowed down to slow motion and you just looked at me, waiting. “It would be my honor, ” I carefully stated, more than a little aware that I’d missed it.

As we got home, you requested a drink and topped it all off with a bath.

“After the bath, a body massage, please. And please put on that music playlist we have. I want to really relax and take it all in.”

“It would be my honor, m’lady.”

I think I could get used to this, and I suspect you could, as well.

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