And as with anything extraordinary, some flaws eventually became visible to the naked eye - even with the glare of all the shiny, opulent wonder of it all.
But the honeymoon was long and enduring and kept its foot on the gas. It was quite a ride and it logged a lot of miles before the tires began to bald.
Subtle changes - then gradually more - and then enough to make us question - but only question.
And then question some more - and again. And then again - and soon enough, more often than not.
It doesn't really matter who called the time out, or waved the checkered flag or which one of us was brave enough to close our eyes and say the words no one wants to hear.
But we'd come to that bridge and we had to cross it. Though neither of us got across it without wanting to throw ourselves off of it a few times.
And on the other side now, I flit like a manic hummingbird - frantically going from Pollyanna hopeful anticipation, to Droopy-Dog-grim dread and avoidance, to desperate Stage 5 clinginess, to nobody-loves-me-but-this-cheesecake self pity.
And I endure bouts of self examination...
Do I look too married?
Do people assume that I am?
If I join one of those social clubs will I feel like a loser out with other losers?
What kind of vibe do I project? Desperate housewife? Cougar? Widow? Do I look like a fun person? A bitch? A rare book collector? A lunatic bunny-in-the-pot psycho?
Do I look my age? My IQ?
What do people assume about me?
And while solitude really does have its merits, solitary is not my lifestyle.
But the truth is, even if I were out 4 nights a week surrounded by friends, J. set the bar very high. So high only he can clear it. Or only he can reliably clear it every time.
People are going to have a hard time measuring up.
Is there such a thing as being emotionally overindulged?
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