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Funk-the-Janitor, Part 3

“Stick with me babe and you’ll be farting through silk.”

If someone had given me a heads-up way back when that I’d be devoting my life to my husband Funk, I would have run the other way while I still had the chance. It’s been forty-six years since those all-too-sincere words were spoken, and instead of returning to my own dreams full time, I’m still immersed in his, silk nowhere in my foreseeable future.

The other week I was an anxious mess.

My desk was piled high with tasks that should’ve been completed months ago. I still didn’t have the stamina to get my four mile walk in each day. Both our businesses were in a slump, but the bills needed paid. A sad anniversary was approaching, yet with so many family and friends having already crossed, I had already exhausted my list of people to call to for comfort.

Nothing I did made me feel peaceful.

I tried every therapeutic practice I’d learned over the years, yet I remained antsy and nervous.
Whenever I’m upset, I always get mad at Funk—I know, not very becoming—so of course, I started brooding on his declaration of silk from long ago.

Things got worse.

Along about dusk one day, as I was sitting under a tree contemplating my life, Funk came out and joined me. By joined, I mean he sat there mute, or gave me one-word answers to any conversation starters I came up with. Since I was in a mood, I said, “If you don’t have anything to say, why don’t you go back inside and let me figure things out for myself.” In a shocking turnaround, Funk said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better. Let me get another beer and we’ll start over.”

Funk either talks or he doesn’t.

He rejoined me under the stars with a beer in hand, and to make up for his silence, he decided it would be a good idea to talk non-stop about all the head things he loves talking about, when it’s the heart things that matter to me.

My disposition worsened.

I knew Funk was trying to be nice, but it still wasn’t what I needed. So, on top of not feeling resonated with, I felt guilty for thinking bad thoughts about him, not to mention bored out of my mind with having to listen to him speak about current events, events that I could give two cares about. I mean, I know the world is going to shit, I don’t need to be reminded of it every day. Since my husband never notices anything that’s two feet in front of him, my foul mood went undetected.

But maybe not.

Once Funk downed his beer, instead of going inside to use the restroom, my Hick from West Vagina walked to the edge of the hill to piss over the side. We were out in the woods for the weekend. Our cabin was mingled among many others, but those were off in the distance. Still, I couldn’t believe he didn’t just go inside to do his business. More, that he’d found the only spot with a shaft of light coming from one of the cabins, and yet he remained there doing what he needed to do. I was just about to spiral down, when he yelled over to me, “Come here babe, look at this.” Begrudgingly, I walked over to where he stood, and that shaft of light was now illuminating me.

Only the light wasn’t from a nearby cabin, it was the light from the approaching Super Full Moon.

Funk knows I love all things involving nature, so I stood there horrified for thinking bad thoughts about my husband, which intensified my anxiety. My Italian upbringing had taught me that you’re never supposed to pray for yourself lest bad things happen to you, but I set that superstition aside and asked the moon to please help me find peace.

In a matter of seconds, I went from being beside myself to feeling completely at ease, and I thought to myself, “Wow! Now that’s magic.”

Here’s to you if you also have a partner who doesn’t quite know how to give you what you need, yet somehow, directs you to it. That scene took place weeks ago, and gratefully, I’m still peaceful. There are many paths to the creator. Each religion has its own version of “Ask and you shall receive.” I’m so glad I was able to override the fear and falsehoods of my youth and request the assistance from above that I desperately needed. I’ll take equanimity over silk any day. May you find the same peace, and also be aware that you have that same magic residing in you too.

The Photo: Me and Funk in our early years together, out in the woods of Tennessee.

Gloria Squitiro has been married to her husband Funk, (Mark Funkhouser, a mayor of Kansas City, MO) for 44 long-ass years. She has a bachelor & #39;s degree in psychology and is published in Harper’s and Authority/Medium magazines and is a contributing writer for See Beyond Magazine. Gloria is the author of the bestselling titles: May Cause Drowsiness and Blurred Vision: The Side Effects of Bravery and C'mon Funk Move Your Ass: How a Demure Little Wife Made Her Husband a Big-City Mayor—the first two books in the 3-book C'mon Funk Trilogy, link to purchase: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B087JDC86T Connect on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/GloriaSquitiroAuthor/

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