Pot and Book Wars

"Will you go over our registry with me before it's finalized?"

The boy had been looking over my shoulder for a while, but it was an inopportune time for him to start paying attention.

"Why do we need so many platters?"

I knew that would be the next question. I had tried to scroll past those three consecutive platters as quickly as possible, but he caught them.

"I just want to make sure we have things we actually need on there first," he says.

Boys don't understand. One is rectangular, one is square, one is big, one is small. And I want to entertain people, and make beautiful food for a beautiful dinner table.

"And what about all those pots?"

Instead of trying to explain that it's only four, and he wants me to cook him good food, and pots are useful things for cooking all sorts of delicious things, I just say a few words.

"My pots are like your books."

. . .

"Shannon, you should know that I am very particular about my bookshelves and the order of books, and the covers of my books."

I have known people like this before. One of them is my sister: when we were little, she arranged her books by color, and by height, and only put the prettiest books on the shelf in our room.

"So what you're saying is that my books aren't invited to your bookshelf," I respond.

He defends himself, and then goes on selecting matching publishers and covers of a few novels from his favorite author. Mentally, I am reviewing all of the mismatching books I have by the same author, or the ugly cover that sits on my favorite book.

A few weeks later, I broach the topic again.

"I don't know if I'll bring all my books to Dallas when we move..." He doesn't get the hint. I love my books just as much as he loves his.

"I'm definitely going to," he replies.

We know what that means: there won't be room in our little apartment for all of my books, too.

. . .

"Where will all those pots go?" he asks, looking at the registry again.

"On your bookshelves."

. . .

I think marriage will be a delight.