Fuckless Amy and I are working on our sixth project together, spread over 14 years. One could argue that this is my longest and most successful relationship with a woman, although I seriously doubt that person would be Amy.
For no other reason than I just remembered it, here is my favorite Amy story.
Like many eco-minded Seattle residents, she often proudly took the bus to work, then asked me to drive her home. It was a reasonable request, as it was so clearly on my way.
One day when we were sitting in traffic, I was bitching about the aggressive obliviousness of Seatard drivers, and Amy launched into a familiar argument.
"Geez! Enough! You sound just like my husband!"
"Now, him— he can fucking drive!" I snarled.
And so it went, until Amy actually said the words heretofore only implied: "You should try to be more like me, John."
Wow.
"It's all about attitude," she continued. "When I first moved here, it wasn't that great a fit." She babbled on about how alien Seattle and its people had felt and what a hard time she'd had adjusting. "But then I realized that I had to adjust to them, not the other way around, and I did. I fit in, now. And it's awesome. I love it here. This is my home."
CUT TO:
INTERIOR - MY OFFICE
TWO YEARS LATER
"So we're leaving Seattle," Amy chirped. "Can't stand these people anymore."
I paraphrased the last quote for comedic effect. The original statement was filled with painfully unfunny backstroking.