Come with me, and we will prove them wrong about us both.

We will not only stand on the shoulders of giants, we will take fearless leaping glides from them, and we will come down pillowed on our own accomplishments after a magnificent flight through that which is only actualized in pairs.

Come with me, and we’ll Madame Curie our way through the world, Fosseying around the hindrances, obliterating disruptions with a single hand. We’ll be successes, superpeople, you and I, and we won’t regret a thing.

We will learn the meaning of purple empowering passion, and be the envy of all we see, not because of what we carry, but how we carry ourselves.

We’ll be the toast of the town. People will whisper about us behind our backs, wondering how did two great people like us ever find each other, and how did our lives fit together so well. And though we may be rich (by our own terms) we will remain humble, and stay as true as we can.

And we’ll name him for your father, and her for my mother, and numbers three and thereafter for whomever we want. And we won’t even fear our kids, but teach them to be the beautiful creatures that are only capable of coming from our combined loins. I will make them blankets as you tell them stories out of your own head winter nights, and in summer we will sit in the backyard and eat popcorn and look at the stars and you can tell them about Orion and the rest, provided we live somewhere that we can see them.

We will drive everywhere, and see everything, and still find comfort in my pathetic lines and your whatever-it-is-you-do. We will stand by the ocean, and you will whisper to me poetry about my green eyes, and I you about your most dominant feature. I have yet to determine what it is.

And we’ll spend hours talking, alone, half-naked on a bed drinking out of leaded crystal, and I shall wear only the finest linens and silks and you a suit whenever the occasion demands. We’ll be the only people in town who hold bridge tournaments, and in the summer we will have private croquet parties and give the queen’s wave to our neighbors coming through and treat them to alcoholic lemonade and fake licorice arrangements.

And when the kids are gone, we can retire to a humongous ranch in the off-seasons, and go to Europe in the on. Europe, where we will get the best wines known and dig up some ancient relatives and get lost in ourselves in the city of lights, and take a gondola not just through Venice, but through every single one of its outskirts, and-

I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong address.

Isn’t this 1254 Beech Street?

Yes, but trust me on this one.

Oh. I’m sorry.

And the door slammed.

Can we at least go get coffee sometime?