I’m married, been married for a long time. Long enough not to even remember being single. And here’s a few of the reasons that I remind myself, why I enjoy being married. (Apologies to any offended feminists.)
I don’t have to buy any electronic things or know how they exactly work. This frees me from having to pay attention to whatever the latest gizmo is because my husband updates our e-stuff and i-inventory. But there are some drawbacks. There have been times when my husband is traveling and the kids have gone to bed, that I read or clean the house. Not because I necessarily want to do these things, but because I don’t know how to work the TV. We’ve got so many video games and satellite boxes and computers and about five different remote controls, that one push of the wrong button, and I’m looking at a black screen.
I don’t kill bugs or spiders or collect the bewildered birds that smash into my front window. Instead, I call my husband. If he’s not around, I call the other male in my house, my son, in preparation for his days years from now when he’s a husband. Stinkbug or tarantula, it doesn’t matter. I scream like there’s a giant octopus about to attack and wait for someone with a Y-chromosome to show up and save me.
I don’t change lightbulbs. That seems like something I should be able to do, but lightbulbs have gotten complicated. Some of them are really high up, some are in special globe fixture things that require a screwdriver and three hands to dismantle. I’ve been picking out my clothes in the dark for about the past two weeks because the light in my closet blew out.
I don’t fix things. Whether it’s an electronic glitch or a loose door knob, I leave those mechanical things to my husband. Now, I will put together a bookcase or something from IKEA, because the directions, parts, and necessary tools are all in the box. But if it requires some kind of assessment of what tools are required and a trip to Home Depot, I’ll come up with some kind of McGyver-ed thing until the Mr. gets around to fixing it.
I don’t negotiate car repairs. I will handle the emergency stuff, like a flat tire, by calling the highway auto repair folks or my husband. And once, when my car wouldn't go into Park (yes, it got stuck in Drive), I did drive myself to the car repair shop, yell out the window to the mechanic and jump out of the car. But other stuff – I let my husband handle the negotiations and discussions because I know the repair folks are going to think, “Ah ha, we can get over on this lady. She probably doesn’t even know the difference between a gasket and a piston.” But my husband can use big, technical car words and does at least know where to find the engine, so I leave this in his domain.
I never have to finish the whole pint of ice cream by myself. Okay, this one could go either way - bad or good, depending on how you look at it.
I don’t have to talk to myself (all the time). Okay, anyone who has a husband, probably feels like they are talking to themselves sometimes, and mine is really good for the “uh, huh, uh-huh, yeah” thing, totally not paying attention while I ramble on about PTA and trying to find a pair of green high heels and how the lightbulb is out in the refrigerator and I can’t set the ringer on my phone. But when it comes to the important stuff – my hopes, my dreams, our family - he’s right there. When it comes to the tough stuff - my faults, my mis-steps, the things that hurt my heart - he's right there. Standing beside me, pushing me along, carrying me forward. He’s right there.
Are you married? What's a good thing about your marriage?
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