Speak The Truth

“Get your shit outta here!”

– Melinda Wolfe

I love my wife, Melinda.

The year was 1986, and we’d been together for almost two years.  Melinda’s apartment was on West 85th Street. I had my own place on East 94th. But, in New York, you often end up drifting to the apartment that’s bigger and cleaner. That was hers, not mine. Over time, more and more of my belongings ended up at her place: clothes, books, records, pictures—all the stuff that defines who we are and what we like.
 
One evening, we got around to “The Talk,” prompted by yet another box of my crap that I unloaded into her apartment that morning.

Melinda was thirty, and I was thirty-two. I was a typical guy cruising along, enjoying our relationship. Melinda was a cool girlfriend. We had sizzling sex, great friends, and plenty of cash. She had even joined me in training for a triathlon so we could spend more time together.  Life was sweet—for me, at least.

That night, Melinda started probing about my intentions, my plans, what I wanted out of life—you can’t be a solid couple without talking through these things.  Not surprisingly, Melinda had a five-year strategy, while I was still trying to figure out our weekend plans.

Melinda: Uh . . . more stuff . . . how long do you want to live in New York?

Me: I don’t know.

Melinda: Well, if you’re serious about us and have marriage in mind, then we need to start thinking about our future plans and figure out where we’re going to put everything. But if you’re not interested in marrying me, then get your shit outta here!

Those words blew me away.
 
She had the courage to take a stand and express what she wanted clearly and defiantly. She wanted us to go forward as a couple, and she was willing to walk away if she did not get it—which was  incredibly powerful. My love and respect for Melinda, already high, went through the roof. I proposed within a month.