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HUMOUR
An elevator ride that's lasted
eight years
By MELVIN DURAI
 MY
WIFE and I just celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary and let me tell
you, I haven't been this happy since my dentist announced his
retirement. We made it past seven years! Our marriage didn't fall
victim to the dreaded seven-year itch, which has broken up more
relationships than Jack Daniel's and Johnnie Walker combined. (Trust
me, it's not a good idea to combine them.)
Some of you, I know, have
been married for more than 50 years and are obviously unimpressed. If
you're a man, you're probably saying to yourself, "Eight years is no
big deal. I've been married so long, I've spent a total of eight years
just waiting for my wife to get out of the bathroom." If you're a
woman, you're probably saying to yourself, "Eight years! That's how
long it took my husband to figure out the hooks on my bra."
Well, here's a
confession: I'm still trying to figure out a lot of things. For
example:
1. When a woman looks at her
wardrobe and complains that she has "nothing at all to wear," does she
really expect her husband to be concerned about the prospect of her
wearing nothing at all?
2. When a woman talks to you
during a football game, is it better to just nod your head and pretend
you're listening or say something polite such as, "I don't mind if you
talk during the game, dear, but please don't expect me to take the
cotton balls out of my ears."
3. In which of these
situations is it reasonable to say 'no' to a woman? (a) When she asks
you to go to a department store to pick up a feminine hygiene product;
(b) when she enters a fitting room in a department store and asks you
to hold her handbag; or (c) when she enters a fitting room and asks
you to pick up a feminine hygiene product while holding her handbag.
Perhaps the biggest thing
I'm trying to figure out is how Malathi and I survived eight years.
Marriage isn't easy -- at least not for us. Sure, we've had lots of
happy moments, but we've also had moments when we wondered if it was
better to just divide the children and go our separate ways. And we
might have done it too, if one of our three children had agreed to be
split in half.
Yes, we've certainly had our
ups and downs. Our marriage has been a heart-thumping elevator ride in
a skyscraper, with some idiot constantly pushing the button for the
basement. I'm pretty sure I know who the idiot is: a British nobleman
named SirCumstance. Or is it that young lady named Miss Communicate?
A perfect marriage requires
perfect partners. I certainly haven't been a perfect husband and I'm
sure Malathi would also say, without hesitation, that she hasn't been
with the perfect guy.
Well, I'm sure she'd admit
to a few mistakes herself. We've both made mistakes and we've both,
hopefully, learned from them. I've learned that it's usually a good
idea to forgive and forget. Forgiving isn't always easy, but the older
you get, the more you can count on forgetting.
I'm so forgetful, I don't
even remember why I was upset at Malathi yesterday. I think she
complained about my sleeping habits. Or was it my sweeping habits?
Frankly, I don't have time
to figure it out. There's a football game coming on and before it
starts, I need to rush to the store to buy some feminine hygiene
products. And some cotton balls, of course.
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