The Compromises of Marriage

Fang and I have been together a long time; going on 22 years. This is our wedding picture (above) taken at Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans on November 13, 1992. We lived together for five years before we made it legal and, well, you know that whole story. Whilst our marriage is an unconventional one and we are rather independent types, we do rely on one another when we least expect it. Just when I feel most burdened, he comes through with flying colors. It could well be reason we're still married.

My train from Baltimore was delayed last night and I ended up getting home hours later than I expected. I had a mountain of work e-mail to get through, I hadn't eaten anything and I just felt like a truck had hit me. I can usually keep going but I felt outright exhausted as I rolled my luggage into the apartment last night. Fang greeted me with the news that the dishwasher wasn't working and lo, there was a sink full of dishes that had collected over the past two days. The cat was yowling, there was loads of laundry that needed tending to and the apartment needed to be cleaned. I just didn't know what to do first but all I wanted to do was sink into our plush couch, have a glass of wine and sleep for two days.

I did a few things last night (albeit half heartedly) and soon after fell into bed. I had to get up early today to get my hair colored. The roots were coming in and if let untended one more week, I knew I would start to resemble a hooker. The salon owner who colors my hair is a genius with color; she's also a self-absorbed and flaky person. I try to make the first appointment of the day with her so I can get her to focus on my hair when she's not preoccupied. I arrived at the salon and when I walked in, she wasn't there. In fact, she didn't roll in until 30 minutes after I arrived. I was thinking about all the work I needed to do at home and was frankly, steaming. By the time she finished my color and my hair was blown dry, it was early afternoon. I raced home.

When I walked into the apartment, I smelled the distinct odor of Clorox. In my absence, Fang had cleaned the entire apartment. He did all the laundry. He fixed the dishwasher and cleared the sink. He paid all the bills and reconciled our finances. He had done everything I was worried about doing myself. I was beyond relieved.

And what did this grateful wife do at that moment? Because she lacks the self-editing chip so essential in relationships she suggested that his recent and thoughtful anniversary gift be returned. The truth is, I test drove this gorgeous set on Thanksgiving and found it a little too conservative for my taste. I had the lack of tact to ask what Fang paid for it; once he told me, I weighed whether it was worth paying seven grand for jewelry that I would wear on the odd occasion. Yeah, no. And back to the jeweler it goes.

His mouth dry, he finally asked me, "So what do you want instead?" I paused and then answered truthfully, "I want a Wii, man. I want the boxing module." I really do want that. Shadow boxing in my guest room is boring. I want an adversary to fight against. Or play tennis with. Or to golf with. Or to bowl against, I am such a child but this does give me pleasure. So, yeah, we're getting a Wii system.

He should know better by now. And he does--he married me.