My Ten Lessons From Marriage

You are an old pro. Marriage is like moving to New York city. If you’re in NYC for 24 hours you’re a New Yorker. If you’re married for an hour, you’re a pro, but I have a different set of lessons from my 20+ years of marriage. I’m sure others are going to weigh in with more experience.

1. You should keep your toothbrushes in separate cups In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, we are one soul separated in two bodies. We have grown together. I don’t know where I end and where she begins, until I use her toothbrush, and then her screaming reminds me that I end before her toiletries. No amount of intimacy can break down the third wall of toothbrush privacy. “Why did you use my toothbrush?” The Boss asks. Of course I lie. We may not have any secrets between us, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to create some. “I didn’t use your toothbrush,” I say. She doesn’t bother to look at me when she asks, “Then why is it wet?”
2. Poor man’s stroganoff is not an acquired taste Once, when eating ham salad the Boss exclaimed with disgust, “I’m becoming a Gutbloom,” by which she meant that I had pulled her off her square and toward the end of the gustatory spectrum inhabited by corned beef hash, poached eggs, and brown bread from a can. Some things remain too far a reach. One of them is poor man’s stroganoff, which is mincemeat and sour cream served over noodles or rice. If I make it, I eat it alone. I can’t say she hasn’t tried.
3. Two memories can be as bad as one “Was it in Jerome, Arizona, that we found the ashtrays and beer bottles underneath the motel bed?” I ask. “No,” she says, “That was in Stonington, Maine.” “No, Stonington, Maine, is where the bedcovers were greasy from the ‘kitchenette’ that was a foot and a half from the bed.” She insists that it was the same place as the ashtrays, but acknowledges that it was different than the place where a distraught husband/boyfriend smashed his wife’s/girlfriend’s car windows in the parking lot at 2:45 in the morning. We look at each other confused for a while, and then agree that there’s no going back. The longer you are married the more expensive the accomodations. We basically can’t travel anymore.
4. Nobody cares about my childhood It would take a lot of work to come up with a name she hasn’t heard. I say “Nikki Rotiroti” and she just rolls her eyes, but familiarity does not equal interest. Not at all.
5. On the other hand, just because I married someone from Brooklyn doesn’t mean I can talk about the neighborhood I know some of the houses on Ainslie Street, and I remember Deli Donut, Naplitano’s, and Graziano’s, but that does not give me the right to comment on the authenticity of Saturday Night Fever or say “the neighborhood” when talking about the neighborhood.
6. When you see a naked body every day, you don’t notice the ravages of time Growing old together is fun. After each birthday, I say something like, “I’ve never had sex with a 48-year-old before.” It doesn’t get funnier. Growing old together means you can help each other age. “You should refrigerate that colonoscopy drink,” I tell her, “the flavor packet isn’t going to do shit.”
7. Don’t make her choose between you and the dog The kid and I wanted a dog. He had been poisoned by a steady diet of Where the Red Fern Grows, Marely and Me, and Call of the Wild. I had grown up with dogs. This was her first dog, and as close as we are, she is closer to the dog. I don’t get it. The dog is just as demanding and bothersome as I am. I pretty sure it smells worse. I guess it just knows when to shut up.
8. I know what she is thinking all the time, but I can’t figure out where she put the batteries Or the eyeglass repair kit, or the shoeshine polish, or that weird piece of plastic that fits on the long pole that we use to change the lightbulbs in the kitchen, or the packages of kimchee seasoning I bought at the Korean store that I was saving, or…
9. Remember the arguments you win “Contour sheets.” They are called “contour sheets.” It’s in the fucking dictionary. I couldn’t have been more right. I might have forgotten to call the oil guy, but I can remember “contour sheets.” I got that card in my pocket. Don’t make me have to use it.
10. One of us will die before the other I don’t like to blog about how much I like being married or having a kid, because I know that many people are not married and don’t have kids. It’s not hard to imagine a life without them. My father lives near me. He lives alone. He loved my mom very much, and none of his sons live with him. You know what? He is fine. He is more than fine. He is the luckiest fucker in the world. I just hope the Boss dies first. I’d gladly take the pain of being the one left to spare her from it.