Life as a honey badger

Blake got me a pink honey badger T-shirt for Christmas. This T-shirt summarizes how he perceives his lovely, docile, obedient future wife:

"It just takes what it wants."

Pretty much true.

We were in Vegas for three days. We lived in a pyramid-looking building, ate some remarkable meals, worked our leg muscles, spent a significant amount of time in H&M and Zara, and substituted bedtime reading with a new episode of Alcatraz.

In addition, like every lovey-dovey couple, we fought over our philosophies of humanity. This is a fundamental divide between us. Blake is someone who would warm frozen rose petals "with [his] bare hands" according to his outdated blogger profile. I, on the other hand, is a honey badger, and according to the youtube voice man, I would eat a cobra and don't care.

Blake believes people should be treated--first and foremost--kindly. I believe people should be treated--first and foremost--fairly. Blake's operating assumption is that a stranger can do no harm. My operation assumption is that a stranger can be just as dangerous. Blake hates when people get hurt, for whatever reason. I hate when people take advantage of others, for whatever reason. He is a scientist-engineer who works with a group of young and not-so-young dreamers and aspires to save the world one day. I would soon enter an industry that thrives on breakdown of relationships and complaints of misery.

Different as we are, I admire his capacity to trust, give, forgive, and forget. I look up to him as my better half and secretly wish to make emotional connections with people as effortlessly as he makes it seem to be.

And Blake consults me (or I just volunteer my unsolicited advice) as to how to say no to people without feeling extremely guilty before and afterwards. He sees me as a curious observer of the dynamics of human interactions. He trusts my judgment, unless it is based solely on unverified Chinese urban legends. He relies on me to whip him into doing his paperwork and explaining the fine print on various forms that he probably shouldn't be signing. He used to call me "funny girl." Now he just calls me "HONEY---badger."

But I am not a true honey badger yet. I am not thick-skinned enough to emerge unscathed and maintain a good appetite after being stung "like a million times." And I cannot run backwards in slow motion.

I will continue to be fierce, and in a human way.

Thank you Babe.