Telepathic Communication

DH and I have been together for a long, long time. We met in 1994, in the springtime, and were dating within a month or so of meeting one another. We've been together ever since. For those with poor math skills, that's 13 years. We've been married for 7 of those years. I can't imagine my life without him.

I think that when you are close with someone for such a long time, you develop the ability to communicate wordlessly. It doesn't necessarily have to be a significant other; I can do this with my sisters and a few friends as well. A shared glance, a certain tilt to the head that indicates a question, or mutual eye-rolling that you both know the meaning behind.

We were at a wedding on Saturday night, a wedding where our connection to the bridal pair is tenuous at best. Neither of us really wanted to go, but duty and obligation compelled us. A quick aside; I looked fabulous in a BCBG Max Ariza dress, purchased a few years ago. It has an asymmetrical hemline, knee-length on one side and calf-length on the other, black, with a floral silver print, and it has only one shoulder. Stunning, yes, but also probably a bit out of date. Not that I care; as I said, I looked fab. My hair is shorter than ever, as I did a favor for the hairdresser last week and he cut and colored my hair for free. It has a few red streaks now, and he warmed the blonde to a slightly darker shade, the white blonde streaks covered until summer comes again.

Regardless, we had agreed prior to leaving for the wedding that we'd leave as soon as it was acceptably polite to do so, since we wouldn't know many people there. As he does from time to time at social events, DH disappeared and I was left to my own devices, so I headed to the dance floor to participate in the near-mandatory dancing of The Electric Slide (hate the song, love to dance, can't keep up with the steps, laugh my ass off at my clumsy self each time) and a few other songs.

DH hates to dance, but will usually dance one song with me provided it is a slow number and that he likes the song. I left the dance floor after they played "YMCA" and started playing something by Rascal Flatts that I didn't recognize, in search of both my husband and a drink. I found him talking to an old friend, and he raised his eyebrow and inclined his head in the direction of the dance floor, asking if I wanted to dance without saying a word. In answer, I put the heel of my right hand on my forehead, in a "I coulda had a V-8" gesture, meaning, "Duh, did you have to ask? Of course I want to dance." He grinned in acknowledgment and led the way to the dance floor.

Later, when things were winding down and we'd seen some people who were not 90 years old leaving, I mimed walking with my index and middle fingers, asking him if he was ready to leave. He nodded, and we sought out our hosts and thanked them for a lovely evening. On the way home, we shared a laugh over the attire of some of the guests that we'd both noticed but hadn't said anything aloud about at the time.

I think it takes a long shared history to be able to communicate this way. It always entertains me when it happens, making me wish that true telepathy were possible.