The Marriage Minuet

Marriage isn’t for sissies. Even if you are married to a prince like Mr. GG. You could compare marriage to, let’s see…. the passionate salsa of discovering true love, the ease of slow dancing while you get comfortable in the early years, the back and forth of box stepping while you negotiate those middle years, and sometimes the free-for-all mosh pit of letting it all hang out, when there aren’t many secrets left. And just for the record, this is a totally inaccurate metaphor, cause Mr. GG doesn’t dance.

So, I admit that Mr. GG is a prince. But in the interest of full disclosure, I have to say he has had plenty of troll moments. In fact he had whole troll episodes on a regular basis for years. I mean once a month. Yep, every month for a few days, Mr. GG turned into a complete asshole. And it was always right before I got my period. It’s like he sensed it or something. And nothing I said seemed to make a difference. Even the time I told him I didn’t believe in divorce, but being a widow didn’t bother me. And did we have any guns lying around the house?

Sometimes Mr. GG has an inappropriate sense of humor. Very annoying when I am trying to have a Serious Discussion. Sometimes it is hard to get him to focus on my point. He’s one of those people who likes to consider all sides of a situation. He’s generally extremely even tempered, calm, collected and even, one might say, phlegmatic. Well, he’s a Libra.

I can generally get a rise out of him, though. (For god’s sake, get your mind out of the gutter. I will tell you when we are going to wallow around in gutter thoughts. It is not now!).

I am thinking of a time in my life when I was depressed about being unemployed, in a new town, where I didn’t know anybody. I had lots of time to brood about stuff. Way too much time. You know that commercial about “Who does depression hurt? Everybody”. That was me. I was a walking thundercloud of doom and despair.

In the throes of my “poor me” thoughts, I came to the conclusion that I was a total loser, and Mr. GG deserved better than me. But he loved me, the poor, mistaken, darling. So, for his own good, he needed to divorce me. But I knew he wouldn’t do it for himself, so I had to convince him to divorce me for my own good.

Okay, picture me, trying to explain that if he REALLY loves me, he will divorce me (so I will snap out of it, and be forced to support myself, and once again become a functioning member of society). Well, it kinda made sense in my head while I was marshalling my thoughts, but of course, it came out all nutso and ridiculous. It reminded both of us of a time before we got married – we’d had a serious fight, and I was gonna leave town. To make my point, I tied bandannas on the cats’ heads, mashing down their little ears, so they looked like poor little evacuee orphan children as I carried them out to my old VW. I didn’t make it very far, because we both collapsed, laughing hysterically, and made up. The cats were miffed, though. But I had no guilt over sacrificing their dignity to save my relationship.

Anyway. We got through that post move divorce episode okay, and Mr. GG suggested I volunteer somewhere to get out of the house, and stop mucking around in my crazed mind. I did, and it helped, and I found a nice volunteer position at a museum and eventually my competence and sunny disposition (I save the murky stuff for Mr. GG) impressed them so much that they hired me.

See, that’s one of the many reasons we are so compatible. We compliment each other. My part of the relationship is to provide food, clean laundry, an uninterrupted supply of toilet paper and emotional support. These days the support is mostly what I call “the data dump”. Mr. GG comes home all wrought up about some little glitch in the workings of the government, or fulminating about why the wilderness guys are anti breast pumps in the wilderness, and he needs to unload all the petty junk that happened before he can truly relax into the domestic glory that is our home. So, I listen, at least until he starts that alphabet talk about other agencies. Then, I admit, my eyes may glaze over, and I start thinking about whether I need to get more mustard next time I hit the grocery.

After he gets all that junk out of his system, he is once again a happy camper and wanders off to watch the news, which has been tivoed, because he works late. And after the “data dump” debriefing, I have to do deep breathing exercises to calm myself down about the stuff that happened to him that day. The more upset I get about follies in the government, the calmer he gets. What can I say? It works for us. But it has taken years to fine tune things to this nice, even existence. It’s worth it though. And to quote one of Mr. GG’s favorite sayings, “So far, so good”.


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