April 29, 2002

Marriage is hard.  That's what

Marriage is hard. 

That's what married people always say whenever they find out you're joining their ranks. I'm sure they know what they're talking about, but it really doesn't seem all that difficult. All you need is a girl, a license, a witness, and an appointment. A couple of drinks don't go astray, I admit. But a couple of drinks rarely ever go astray in my experience. 

There's a lot more to come in the post-ceremony phase, I know. And I'm bracing myself for the oft-predicted difficulty, I promise. When it occurs, I hope we'll manage to bear it with the same grim determination that can be discerned faintly on the faces of those issuing the warning. 

That said, the verdict on the first three days of matrimonial domesticity, however, is: pretty cool. Mostly, we've just been walking around marvelling at how weird it is that we actually did it, we're actually married.

"Hey," she'll say. "Isn't it weird?" 

"What?"

"I'm your wife now."

"You are." I'll say. "So you wouldn't mind getting me a beer, then?"

And she doesn't mind. Now that's my idea of a help meet. 

We've spent quite a bit of time engaged in different versions of that same conversation. Do other newly-weds do this, or are we just goofier than everyone else? We contrive ways to steer the topic around to the subject so we have an excuse to refer to each other as "husband" and "wife," "Mr." and "Mrs.", "old man" and "old lady" (not particularly popular with the missus, that last) "ball" and "chain," etc. There are colorful British phrases for wife like "'er indoors" and "trouble and strife" that don't have male equivalents-- they're fun anyway. Lots of options. (By the way, that's one of the benefits of transatlantic marriages: you have a lot more goofy phrases at your disposal. The other day my wife-- there I go again-- said this: "bloody buggery bollocks! we forgot the bleeding loo roll." Like I said, pretty cool.) I suppose we'll get tired of this after awhile. For now, though, it works if you work it, as they say. It passes the time.

Despite pronounced anti-social tendencies, we've even found ourselves going out of our way to encounter new people, just so we can introduce each other as "husband" and "wife." They look at us like we're insane. I don't how it is for most married guys, but I don't suppose I'll ever forget the first stranger to whom I had the occasion to refer to her as "my wife." It was a belligerent drunk at the Starry Plough in Berkeley, where we celebrated the first evening out of our marriage, experiencing the rock and roll of my good friend and guitar genius Chuck Prophet. The belligerent drunk tried to sit in her chair when she was "in the loo" (as she would put it) and I had to explain to him that it was my wife's seat.

"Your wife? Your wife?" said the belligerent drunk. "Lemme ask you a question."

I said I was all ears.

"How did you acquire this girl?"

"Oh," I said in that off-hand manner I have, "the usual way, I suppose. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, and so on. It's a tale as old as time, really."

The belligerent drunk had little to add, and after casting a few menacing looks my way, his attention began to wander. Fortunately, so did he, eventually, sparing my wife the necessity of having to say, upon her return, something like "stop beating up my husband."

The first belligerent drunk of our marriage. One in a series of thought-provoking, perspective-illuminating firsts, for which we never tire of congratulating ourselves. I've already told you about the first beer of our marriage. Last night we watched the first Seinfeld re-run of our marriage. And it was extremely funny.

Trouble ahead? Perhaps. We've got a long way to go. But so far the most difficult part of our marriage has been sitting through Mullholland Drive on video. I have a feeling if we can make it through that, we can probably handle just about anything.

Anyway, thanks very much to all the blogosphere denizens who sent congratulations. You folks rule.

Posted by Dr. Frank at April 29, 2002 10:26 AM | TrackBack