The Perils of a Long Marriage
A while ago, I started to recognize the symptoms that I have been married a long time.
I am beginning to sound like my husband.
Like when I said to the salesman at the kitchen shop, “I might be tempted to buy this skillet if you could give me a ten percent discount.”
Uh-oh, I thought afterwards.
And I was even more scared after I complained about a car that had parked too close to me. It made it really difficult to get out of my parking space and I have a hard enough time of that already. (My mother looks for four spots – think of the letters HH – so she can pull through with plenty of room and never have to back up. I am sure I am just a few years away from that.)
Anyway, I was griping about this close-parker (like Seinfeld’s close-talker) and I said, “It was a piece-of-shit Mopar.”
Holy crap, it even sounded like my husband’s voice.
It is just a matter of time before I hear myself talking about the idiots at the bank.
And then it is only a short hop from there to asking the McDonald’s kid, “Can you put some ice in my coffee so I don’t scald myself and sue you?”
But I just found that it works the other way too.
My husband and I received a wedding invitation, and he was really excited about dressing up. (It appears that I may not be the only one in my family who secretly wants to be a princess.) To be fair (which I rarely am), over the last year my husband has been my inspiration in eating healthy food and getting in shape. And he has discovered what I have known since age four – that it is fun to buy clothes and look great.
So he bought himself a gorgeous new outfit. Honestly, it was nicer than what I was planning to wear. Which was fabulous news – because I got to shopping again.
And two days before the wedding, he said to me over breakfast:
“I’m really stressed. I have a hair appointment today, and I’m so afraid that the hairdresser will screw it up, and I’ll look stupid.”