I’ve been married to the most wonderful woman in the world for almost 34 years now. She’s been such a great companion, a soul mate, really, and she’s stood beside me through thick and thin, and our love has grown deeper and stronger with each passing day.
What’s the secret of our happy marriage? To what do we attribute such longevity?
Well, there are lots of things, mostly little things. High on any list would be my repeated attempts to drive my wife crazy.
There are three main categories my schemes fall under. One is the stupid remark repeated every chance I get. For example, if we are leaving the house to go somewhere, she might say, “Should we hit the road?” To which I always reply, “Why, what did the road ever do to us?’ Or if she observes that I need a haircut, I feign hurt feelings and say, “Is that some sort of bald joke? I need “a” “hair” cut?”
These remarks have been repeated hundreds of times over the years.
The second category is making stupid remarks based upon a theme. An example of this was observed just a couple of months ago. It was a Sunday morning, and we had a few errands to run. My wife was driving. First stop was the lumber yard, and my wife parked a fair distance from the front door. As I exited the vehicle, I asked her, “Do you have your cell phone with you?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Because we might want to call Amtrak and see if they have any trains that run from here to the store.”
The next stop that morning was at Target, and this time, as I got out of the car, I asked her, “Do we have any empty bottles in the car?”
“No,” she said. “Why?”
“I was just thinking that it might be quicker to leave a note in a bottle and wait for it to wash up at the store front than walking all this way.”
The third category is just acting childish and stupid. For example, this afternoon, while grocery shopping at the supermarket, I had an inspired idea. I shut my mouth, and didn’t say anything, answering only with non-verbal nods of the head. I think my wife was enjoying shopping at this point. Soon I got the idea that I’d pretend I was mute, and could communicate only through sign language. I don’t know the first thing about sign language, but that didn’t stop me from moving my fingers frantically, trying to tell her that we’d forgotten the black olives in Aisle six (which I’m guessing is a message that even an experienced user of sign language might struggle with). She didn’t appreciate the humor in my gyrations, and slapped me on the shoulder, saying “knock it off.” At this point I saw the other woman, standing behind us, and the look of horror on her face as she witnessed the woman abusing her poor mute husband.
It’s no wonder in moments like these that we’ve lasted as long as we have.