puppy lovers

Two puppy lovers passed my wife and me on the street—his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. They were tight, bodies almost one.

36 years in, my wife and I were walking with no body parts touching.

Love is different at our stage—inattentive at times, richer at others. Forgiving. Vengeful. A cute cocktail—like an Old-Fashioned. Sweet. Smooth. Burn. At this stage, you can say something nasty, and the other person might hear it as funny. Not sexy nasty—the unkind kind. Works both ways, too.

“Let’s put our arms around each other and walk like that couple,” I suggested.

“Why?” she asked.

“See what it feels like.”

“You want to see what it feels like?”

“Sure.”

We pushed ourselves together like the puppy lovers. Hooked around the shoulders and waist. I laughed. She laughed.

“Feels stupid,” I said.

“Yes, it does.”

We laughed again—two Old Fashioneds still at it.

That’s us playing tourist on a selfie spot in Mystic, Connecticut, this past summer. We’re in front of the last wooden whaling ship in the world at a very cool seaport museum.