Blogs » Flotsam and Jetsam » You've had him 25 years? Sorry, no refunds.

Subscribe


 
You've had him 25 years? Sorry, no refunds.
By Riverboat in Flotsam and Jetsam
June 28, 2009

My wife and I have reached our 25th wedding anniversary. Analyzing statistics on marriage can be confusing, but it’s fair to assume we’ve beat a lot of odds. The biggest hurdle, apparently, is reaching seven years, which is like a golden anniversary in California. To give this some perspective, in the last twenty-five years eight superintendents got their tickets punched on the way to greener pastures with fatter cows, and about 2,500 students received a report card with my name on it.

It's natural to reminisce over the occasions leading up to such a day. All the sleepless nights feeding and rocking the kids to sleep. Hundreds of diapers. The first ball hit in a YMCA ragball game. The visits to the emergency room. The first half-time show with the drill team or the marching band. Watching one after another cross the stage at graduation.

After reaching a milestone like this, one earns a certain amount of respectability and is sought out for sage advice on whatever he has been doing for the last 25 years. So pull up a chair and listen if you want the secret to longevity after strapping on a cummerbund and saying “I do.”

Ready? Here it is. . .

It's not so important to be interesting as interested.

That’s it. You can be as dumb as a doorknob or as witty as Oscar Wilde. If you don’t pay constant attention to the woman, you’re going to miss out on something important. Sure, you may think it’s trivial, but take my word for it. There is nothing trivial in the mind of a woman. When she speaks, you listen. Drop the remote, the weed-whacker, the paint brush, the power tool, the book you’re reading. Unnecessary distractions, all. And there’s going to be a quiz later. You might have to take it as you’re suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, taking a shower, or grilling burgers. Forget multiple-choice. It’s like filling out a blue book on a college exam graded by a professor in a skirt.

At the same time, imagine all the nuances the husband can convey by simply emphasizing a different syllable in the stock response to any demand: “Yes, Dear:”

"Yyyyyes, Dear." - Meekly accepting his fate. "Yeeeees, Dear." - Meekly accepting his fate, with a hint of rebellion. "Yesssss, Dear." - Impatience bordering on full-scale rebellion. "Yes, DEAR!" - Impatience bordering on homicide.

Bridezilla, a TV cable show, features dysfunctional would-be brides on the hunt for the perfect dress, the perfect cake, and the perfect nuptial vows. The prospect of marriage opens up a major market - dresses, flowers, decorations, music, etc. It's so big, there should be a listing for weddings on the NASDAQ. By contrast, I delivered pizza to earn some extra income for a frugal ceremony. Flowers, food and libations were supplied by local vendors. The invitations were designed by one of the bride’s brothers. The reception was at the University of Houston Catholic Newman Center. Our wedding wasn’t perfect by cable TV standards, but it was a golden moment for us.

Make that silver.

Image