Ten Years of Marriage
by MW Cook
I wonder what I’m supposed to write about. What I’ve learned?
As if that’s what marriage is for—learning things.
That’s not to say I haven’t learned anything.
I’ve learned how to listen. I’ve learned how to own different points of view. I’ve learned the awesome power of forgiveness, mindfulness, and red wine. I’ve learned tons of shit.
If there were a test at the end of this marriage, I’d ace it.
I love tests.
But marriage isn’t about learning.
Should I write a defense of marriage?
That’d be fashionable.
There’s nothing good in marriage itself.
It’s where good and bad can find a place.
I found good. Lots of people don’t.
Marriage isn’t a thing that needs defending.
Heck, it isn’t a thing at all. It’s a convention. A label. Something we made up.
It’s a life-long club for two people.
Most exclusive club around. Our home is our clubhouse. We get to pick all the rules. We do awesome projects, like growing children into existence and perfecting the Nacho. Membership benefits include coronary love, soul-tickling intimacy, raucous sex.
And a friend who won’t quit on me.
No matter how much I change. No matter how much she changes.
So I don’t know what I should blog about on our anniversary.
But ten years ago I stood, pale and shaking, in front of nearly everyone I knew and I made a deal to be Ruth’s live-together, bonk-together, stay-together-until-death-do-us-part friend.
I had no idea what I was in for.
Ten years later, I still have no idea what I’m in for.
Hey Ruth, It’s been fun so far. Wanna keep it up until we die? I’m in if you are.