I have finally found the perfect relationship. Really.
I have other relationships that were previously very satisfactory. I have a husband, children, siblings, parents, in-laws, friends….but I realized they are too two-sided. They all involve a certain degree of effort on my part. None of them are all about ME. I never realized how far they fell short until I met…..
Of course my relationship with N.F. began innocuously enough. I know, that’s what everybody says. I just wanted to watch a movie. I went into it knowing it would be cheap. Simple. Quick. That was the whole appeal. Initially.
But before I knew it, I was in over my head. It’s just that after only one month, N.F. knows me so well. Actually, N.F. is absolutely riveted to me, looking for clues in everything I do, alert to every click of my mouse, processing every possibility as I rate movies I have seen. “Ah-Ha! That is so Ferris,” I practically hear N.F. saying.
When I hover my mouse over a certain movie, N.F. is right there beside me, whispering in bold type, “Ferris would not like this.”
N.F. would never subject me to a tedious foreign downer, like my mother insists upon. Nor would N.F. allow me to watch a drawn-out period pieces where absolutely nothing happens, like my sister recommends. It doesn’t even bring up Westerns, the movies my husband insists upon, or subtitles, like my brother wants me to watch.
No, N.F. knows I only want to be entertained, and N.F. does not judge me for that. There are no rolling of the eyes or side-ways comments about my being trite or shallow. The only reaction my choices of movies get from N.F. is a suggestion of Legally Blonde.
I’ve begun to trust Net Flix implicitly. If N.F. says Ferris will like something, I rent it, no matter how obscure the title. “The Station Agent”, The Land of Women”, “Snow Cake”….these are all movies I loved, and the only one who cared enough to share them with me was N.F.
I think my husband is a little threatened by my new relationship.
“Order “The Goodbye Girl”, he tells me. “You’ll love it.”
“I don’t know yet. Let me see what Net Flix says,” I say, hovering my mouse over Marsha Mason.
“Oh, that’s baloney. I think I know you better than some computer movie store,” he says in an irritated voice.
N.F. surreptitiously calls me by name. Ferris is spelled correctly. “Our best guess for Ferris is a 2.3,” N.F. cautions me.
I look at my husband, disappointed. Really. We have been married for almost 24 years. Has he not heard a word I said?