TheBanyanTree: Married Life

[Monique Colver]

People keep asking me what it’s like, this married life. I’m not sure how to
respond, inasmuch as it seems a lot like before, except I get to refer to
him as my “husband,” which has a whole different sound than fiancé, or
boyfriend, or whatever, and that I am now assured of my place in the Colver
pantheon of odd Colvers. Not that the Colvers themselves are odd, but if
there are any odd ones in the bunch, I can now count myself among them.
That, and I can now, with impunity, break my husband’s cell phone, over and
over again, and all he can do is look at me with despair. 
	I don’t mean to break his cell phone. It’s not as if it’s my fault,
entirely. In fact, I think he could just as easily break it, since he does
laundry also. It just so happens that on the occasions his cell phone has
been washed, I was the one doing the laundry. Did you know that washing a
cell phone is not a good idea? While it may remove whatever icky germs are
hanging around, it has the effect of making it, likely, nonfunctional. A
nonfunctional clean phone is apparently not as good as a functional dirty
phone. Must be a guy thing. The latest casualty is currently undergoing a
technique which promises to, if not restore the phone to health, at least be
an educational lesson in how to dry out, or not dry out, a cell phone. The
last cell phone we gave up as a lost cause, and went to the cell phone store
and bought a new one.
	Another thing to keep in mind: washing the cell phone voids the
warranty. But usually we can replace a Razor fairly inexpensively, if we
just add on to the contract. I think his current contract currently runs
through 2017. 
	Another thing about being married that I’ve noticed is that we’re
now free to enjoy our own separate activities. Sure, we could do that before
too, but there was always that chance that one of us might not come back.
Now we have to. There’s a paper that says so. 
	And yet another thing about being married: he can make fun of me
even more than before! While sitting in the car today at the drive through
at McD’s waiting for my ice cream cone, I was babbling on and on about
something which was nothing in particular. I do that. He turned up the
volume on the radio. I looked at him and said, “What are you doing?” I do
that a lot. Sometimes it’s “what the hell are you doing?” or “what the hell
do you think you’re doing?” He turned it back down and said, “Oh, I was just
trying to drown out the noise.” He seemed to think this was funny, no doubt
because marriage ruins one’s sense of humor. 
	I regarded him in the special way I have that’s meant to convey that
he is in deep trouble, and that it may take him quite a bit of digging to
get out, but all he did was laugh at me. I may need to work on my look,
because it isn’t working. Of course, this in itself isn’t because of
marriage. 
	This works both ways of course. I can now torture him also. It all
works out. Overall, I’d have to say the marriage thing is working out.