Dull documentary or movie magic?
I don’t know if couples ever ask these days for insight on marriage or wonder what it will be like when the honeymoon is l-o-n-g over.
But last Sunday for me and Better Half, before the day drew to a close, it made me think to myself now this 24-hour span of time has really captured so well so many realities of what it’s like to be husband and wife, the take and give, the familiarity of it, the blend of personalities, yadda, yadda, yadda.
We should do a tutorial or a documentary or something to give curious couples a heads up on what real marriage between real people is really like, in our humble experience anyway.
Or scratch the Academy Award nominee possibilities — I should at least write a column about it.
Yes, that’s a fine idea, I decided Wednesday evening when all other potential topics failed to flourish, but also because I kept revisiting all the “exciting” twists and turns of what was just a typical day for a typical old married couple such as us.
We came home from church feeling all happy and buoyed with “This is the day that the Lord has made” enthusiasm, a mood burst in quick balloon-meets-pin fashion when reality reared its hungry head: What’s for lunch, brunch, dinner?
No topic generates greater angst than the expectation of a meal being made by me to suit others who aren’t content with a gourmet meal — a can of soup and a toasted cheese sandwich.
What is wrong with these people, I always wonder.
Fortunately, the ping-pong conversation of let’s have this or let’s have that ended in victory, a win-win: We went out to eat — at a buffet no less.
But even buffets can generate a little discomfort — and not just around the waistline.
Better Half and I have a try-this mentality, borderline annoying, I suppose.
You should try this, he insists of something “spectacular” on his plate that I have no interest in at all. Yuck.
This is better, I counter, fork pointing at something else for emphasis. He winces.
Buffet-sedated, we headed down Errand Alley, as I call it, because Sundays are a fine day for such “relaxing” pursuits.
I had a few stores I needed to stop at for no particular reason, though Better Half kept asking what exactly we were looking for.
“Inspiration,” was my response for lack of knowing.
I tend to be in brisk-walk mode when we’re heading from a parking lot to a store, which usually doesn’t bother Better Half, but on this particular occasion it did.
There were can-holding kids outside one store, collecting for a cause.
That’s my cue to dig in my purse, which I was doing, walking along at a fast clip, when I heard Better Half “psssssst!!!!” with conviction.
“Wait for me,” he said, explaining that there might be some confusion that we’re two separate people worthy of two separate donations.
The man who once sent flowers at random turns frugal.
At one point in our outing spree, we were driving along when we both realized we were headed in the opposite direction.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Better Half challenged.
I’d been chatting away all the while and hadn’t noticed. I must have been mesmerized by the sound of my own voice, I confessed.
The evening ended in devoted togetherness.
Better Half was tuned in to his political news. I was wrapped in a blanket, practicing “log sawing.”
And the Academy Award goes to….
(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.)