I can’t quite believe it: in June, Hubs and I celebrated our 20th anniversary. Two decades! And I simply can’t imagine a better partner with whom to navigate this adventure called life.
Part of what makes our marriage great, IMO, is that we laugh together—a lot—inspiring this haiku (reprised from an earlier “Scenes from a boomer marriage” post):
The secret sauce for
long-term relationships has
got to be laughter.
Here are a few examples of what’s cracked us up lately:
I’m in my home office, working, while Hubs is in the adjacent living room. I get an email letting me know that an item we bought online is on its way.
Me: Hey, our table has shipped.
Hubs: Mine’s working just fine.
Me: Huh? What do you mean?
Hubs: I mean I’m having no trouble getting on the internet.
Me: What does that have to do with the fact that our table has shipped?
Hubs: Oh. I thought you said, “Our cable is sh*t.”
As a result of a “white” low-fiber diet as part of my colonoscopy prep, I get a yeast infection. Since Hubs does the grocery shopping, I ask him to pick up some Monistat cream at the supermarket. He graciously agrees to do so, but then he calls from the store.
Hubs (in a near-whisper): So I’m in the feminine products aisle at the store, and I’m confused.
Me: I can barely hear you—what?
Hubs (a little louder): I’m looking at all these things of, uh, you know, medicine, and I don’t know what to buy.
Me: I just need some Monistat.
Hubs (in a near-whisper again): I know, but there’s cream, suppositories, one-, three- and seven-day versions—what the hell do I get?
Me: Why are you whispering?
Hubs: I don’t know.
Me: Well, just get me the three-day dose of cream.
Me: Thanks, honey!
I’m in the recovery room after my colonoscopy. Hubs is with me; we’ve just gotten word from the gastroenterologist that everything looks fine, and I can go home. Still a little woozy from the sedation, I begin to get dressed. I spy a container of wipes on the sink and decide to freshen my nether region a bit before putting on my underpants.
Me: OUCH! That burns like hell—what the…?
Hubs: What’s wrong?
Me (looking at the container of wipes): These are freakin’ antiseptic wipes for solid surfaces, not skin!
Hubs: I guess there’s a reason they tell you not to drive or sign any legal papers after you have sedation, huh?
Me: Ya think? Man, my butt hurts.
Hubs and I are talking about what to have for dinner. I suggest fish tacos.
Hubs: That sounds good. Can we have them with that aureole sauce?
Me: You mean aioli?
Hubs: Yeah, that.
I’m in the kitchen, and Hubs walks in from the den:
Hubs: There’s cat vomit on the stairs.
Me: Did you clean it up?
Hubs: It looks like it’s just a big fur ball.
Me: You got close enough to see that, but you didn’t clean it up?
Hubs: Well, I thought you’d want to know.
Me: Well, now I know. Can you clean it up?
Hubs (sighing): Oh, all right.
So, what do you think? Can you relate? Got some scenes from your own marriage to share? Please do!