Happily Ever After: A Letter to My Husband

by Valerie Nusbaum January 2017   Dear Randy: Since we’re beginning a new year, I thought it might be a good time to review our marriage and relationship. I know that as you’re reading this, you’re making that face.  You know the one. It’s a cross between a deer caught in the headlights and smelling something foul. I asked you recently if you wanted to discuss the state of our union, and I did listen to your lengthy dissertation about how we made a commitment years ago and nothing has changed. I especially remember the part where you stated that marriage isn’t easy, but I took no particular offense to that. I don’t understand how you can say that living with me is hard, though. I’m very good at compromise, and I almost never disagree with you—except when you’re wrong. You and I have stuck together through the good times and the bad times. As you pointed out, the bad times have included one of us holding the bucket while the other one heaved into it. In my defense, I only made you do that once that I can remember. I don’t throw up a lot. There was that time when I caught a virus on the cruise to Alaska, but you didn’t have to clean up after me. The cabin stewards in the hazmat suits took care of it while you laughed. We’ve laughed a lot and, more often than not, we’ve laughed with each other and not at each other. Yes, I did laugh at you the time you cut your hand while you were slicing ham and thought you had cut off your finger, but it was actually a chunk of ham you had bandaged. You have to admit that was funny. And I helped you clean it up. Now that I think of it, you’ve laughed at me quite a few times when I’ve inserted my foot into my mouth. I know I do that a lot, and I’m glad you find it entertaining. I know what a hamfest is now. Thank you for clearing that up for me. You’ve always been a good sport, and you’ve come along for the ride with most of my crazy ideas. A lot of husbands wouldn’t have taken ballroom dancing lessons. You not only did that, but you excelled at the cha-cha. And you ended up teaching the mat-cutting class that we took when the instructor cut his hand. We’ve explored lots of new places together and collected souvenirs and memories by the boxful. It seems that we always manage to find something to giggle about during the tours we take. Trolley cars and duck boats, trains and carriages…we’ve had experiences that no one can take away from us. I can’t help it that people like to tell me their life stories. I have that kind of face. I know it bugs you sometimes; not my face so much, but the fact that people seem to wait for you to leave the area and then pounce on me. I must look like a good listener, and I do have nice teeth. You, on the other hand, look like a problem-solver, and that’s exactly what you do for others. You solve a lot of my problems, even when I don’t ask you to. Sometimes, I don’t want a solution, only some sympathy when someone hurts my feelings. I know it’s a man-thing. You can’t help yourself because the answer is so clear to you. I also know that a lot of the time people approach you with questions because they think you’re in charge; you make up things to tell them so they’ll go away. I never tell on you, though, because I’m a good wife. You’re a good husband, too. You’ve put up with a lot over the last twenty-five years.  You’re also a very lucky man, because I haven’t let myself go and I’m a good cook. To your credit, you’ve eaten more than one meal that could best be described as “interesting” and you’ve never complained. You even thank me for feeding you and for doing your laundry. I thank you, too, for building things for our home and for working so hard to make a good living for us while I struggle with my business endeavors. You’ve welcomed my family into your life, and you’ve accepted my friends as yours. I hope I did the same for you. We’ve shared so much, but I’m very happy that we’ve always had separate bathrooms and that your workshop is in the backyard. There are some things we shouldn’t have to share. I guess when it’s all said and done, you were right again.  A long time ago, we decided to get married and make a life together, and we agreed to all the things we promised in our vows. I remember that you chewed your lip through the whole ceremony, but we did it anyway and we’re both still here. You said that you weren’t going anywhere (without me) and neither am I. I’ll do another year, if you will. How do you feel about another twenty-five years? Love, Valerie (Randy surprised me with a reply, writing in my column: Why only 25?? I Love you too…. Randy.) Happy New Year to all of you! I hope 2017 is the best year yet for everyone. I also want to wish a very happy eighty-fifth birthday to my sainted mother!