Recommended wine for today’s entry: I’m going to have to go with champagne, seeing that it’s my anniversary and all. The great news — for me — is that I get the whole bottle, because my husband doesn’t like it. Maybe a light, dry one, like Champagne Henriot or Champagne Ayala. (Those recs are from a real expert — see http://www.winereviewonline.com/Ed_McCarthy_on_Elegant_Champagnes.cfm. Yummy.
Before you think the comment “26 years…it feels like longer” is bitchy, I might note that it is a year-adjusted quote from my adoring spouse, who said that on the occasion of our silver anniversary last year. So take it up with him.
Contemplating my marriage, which we should all do now and again, led me to the realization that I will probably never leave my husband, and I have five good reasons for this:
1) He hates my cooking. If I were to remarry, I would have to totally break in a new husband. It’s not impossible — you just have an “unfortunate incident” involving double the mayo in some casserole very early in your marriage. If it lands him in the Southwest Airlines lavatory most of the flight to Houston, your path is paved. So now, he asks for sandwiches for dinner most nights. I still have to venture all the way to the grocery for the turkey once in awhile, and he hates if the bread is green, so it’s not like I’m on easy street, but I have him broken in pretty well. Instead of “what’s for dinner?,” my family always asks, “is there dinner?” Would hate to give that up.
2) He disposes of all deceased creatures from the garage floor. The two cats who have taken up residence in our garage (not to be confused with the six who live in luxury inside) often bring me little treats to show me how much they love me. I mean, what says “I love you” better than a half of a chipmunk? Anyway, Jeff is excellent at disposing of the carnage and he doesn’t even complain. It took him awhile to remember that sometimes it’s just a spleen left on the floor, so a keen eye is needed. Nothing grosser than stepping on a spleen with bare feet. Anyway, this is very important to me, because once he was in Australia for two weeks and I’d loaded the kids into the car and fortunately saw that there was the bottom portion of a large squirrel lodged against my rear tire. If I’d run over it, I would have shrieked for days. As it was, I had to handle it myself, scooching it into a Miller Lite box (only box available at the time) with a shovel, all while looking away and crying. What a crappy way to go, huh? I still feel badly for it. A bad experience, but one which bolstered my marital commitment one-hundred percent.
3)He’s an amazing trip planner. He’ll spend two years finding the perfect European destination, hotels, flights, even scenic trains. Once we embark, I take an Ambien and awaken in paradise. I don’t even (read “am not allowed to”) hold my own passport. I have planned two trips in my life — one was a spring break trip in college, where we slept in Diana Cooke’s Camaro for three nights before imposing on a more responsible and pissed off classmate for lodging, and one was last October at Miami University, where I dropped the ball for Parent’s Weekend and we stayed in some hotel room that hadn’t been updated — or cleaned — since 1992 and a guy in a lemon-yellow Malibu was making drug deals in the parking space outside our window all night. So I won’t dabble in travel planning again.
4)Like Rainman, he’s a very good driver. I won’t drink and drive. Even one glass of wine — it just makes me nervous. And besides, when is the last time I had just one glass of wine? I did my 16 months of designated driving while pregnant. (I know that 9 x 2 is 18, but it took me a little while to realize I was pregnant with the first … oops.) Fortunately, my husband is much more mature than I am and ceased engaging in binge drinking when he graduated from college, so he’s my permanent designated driver. If it weren’t for him, I’d never leave the house.
and last, but not least…
5) He makes me laugh and I love him. So when our sixteen-year-old, in a fit of anger, screams, “No wonder EVERYBODY hates you!” at him, prior to slamming the bedroom door, he knows he’s always (usually) got me. See, when you’re sixteen and REALLY mad, a simple “I hate you” is just not enough. Gotta get that bullet in a little deeper. And don’t think he’s the only one she says that to. It’s already in her baby book.
So there are my five reasons why I’ll stick around for another 26 years. Maybe you should think about your marriage in quantitative terms, too. Of course, I could list about 50 disclaimers — like if he cheats on me, if he doesn’t buy me a new car soon, if he takes a job in any state that is colder than Kentucky, if Ashton dumps Demi because he’s looking for someone a little older with droopier breasts … then no guarantees. But, all else remaining the same, we’re good for awhile longer. And I get the whole bottle of champagne. As my hero Borat would say, N – i – c- e.