The Perfect Pear

P and I are a rather odd set to some. He's quite a bit older than I am, and often we are mistaken for a father-daughter duo instead of a married couple.

If I had a dime for every time someone mistook our relationship I'd have about... ten bucks.

It's not that hard to see why, really -- Peter has flowing silver locks swirling, in a Beethoven-esque fashion, around piercing blue eyes which are accented by sexy eye-crinkles. He's like a fine wine...that remembers what life was like before the Summer of Love.

On our first date, I was legal to drink by two weeks.

Apparently, when P first came home from on of his several "business" trips to my darling Chicago apartment, C, his trusty assistant (who is now my trusty sidekick when I'm not being her sidekick) got suspicious. Proddingly, she asked him what was going on. He blushed. Ever curious, she pressed on.

"Well, she's very young, you know."

Crystal, a twenty-something herself and undeterred, continued, "Well, she's not younger than me is she?"

Peter hesitated.

"How old are you, again?"

Several months later, I was imported to meet the family. We ticked them each off the list in short order:

• kids, check.
• cats, check.
• brother, check.
• three nieces and one nephew, check.

There was only one person left on the list, and it was C. When the day finally came, I was timid and C was cautious. We were each polite and standoffish. It was mutual, really. Neither of us really like other people, especially those of the female persuasion. We're both tough and hermit-ous by nature.

We had no idea how much we had in common.

Eventually though, with me safely returned to Chicago, Crystal delivered her verdict: despite all the obvious objections she could raise, after seeing us together, she knew we were the perfect pair.

And here's the proof, straight out of our courtyard garden.