Archive for December, 2014

Premature/Overdue: A Marriage

Monday, December 1st, 2014

Remember this? Prophecy, as per usual. Because here we are.

And this year perhaps even moreso than most, as my two close buddies are going through Major Life Events—a baby for one, a wedding for the other—which has occupied much of my extracurricular time in increasingly intense and joyous ways. OHMYGODbaby! OHMYGODwedding! has essentially been my state of mind for the past couple of months.

Of course, in the interstices, there’s trying to get even a few household chores accomplished, one of which is to get John a dresser. He has a dresser, technically—or he did, until my tolerance for its presence in our bedroom reached its limit. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, at least on the surface—a sleek, white modern tallboy purchased from the Crate & Barrel seconds outlet—but I became worried that, come the earthquake, it would fall on him and break both of his legs*. And then where would we be? With the hospitals filled with other victims, ambulances nowhere to be found, and me unable to lift him even an inch?

*Inelegantly constructed (i.e., from layers of thick particle board), it weighs about 200 lbs. Not kidding.

True, we could have simply attached the dresser to the wall, but a) we knew we weren’t keeping it, and b) don’t wanna make holes in the wall until I have to. (I have learned the hard way that holes in the wall tend to remain holes in the wall.) So, the dresser is out of the bedroom. In the interim, John has arranged his clothes on a bookshelf next to his closet.

Cue the following conversation, which we had Saturday morning:

Me: I’m thinking bank and farmer’s market today, but I don’t know if I can get to the Bowl.

J: I can do the Bowl.

Me: You did the Bowl last week.

J: Yeah, but you did it for like 10 weeks before that.

Me: I don’t mind doing the Bowl.

J: Okay, but you have to do calligraphy for C’s wedding today, so I can do it.

Me: In that case, I think I might have time to do a little Craigslist dresser-shopping for you.

J: Oh, no. That’s premature. There’s no need for that.

Me: [Chuckling.] That’s . . . premature?

J: [Also chuckling.] Yeah, I mean, we have plenty of time for that.

Me: [Laughing.] You know, some might say that it is in fact not premature at all. Some might say, after talking about this for several years, that it is in fact overdue.

J: [Laughing harder.] Oh, no. It is definitely not overdue. It’s most certainly premature.

Me: [Hysterically laughing.] Yes, I can see how we certainly could not say that it was overdue, not when you’re living out of a bookcase and when there is a giant space on that side of the bedroom.

J: [Hysterically laughing.]  Absolutely. Because we are nowhere near the point where the dresser is actually necessary.

M: [Doubled over laughing.] Not at all! We could go for years like this! With an open bookcase serving perfectly well!

[We laugh so hard at the naming of this elemental difference in perspective that we cannot speak for 30 seconds or so. Then, when we recover . . .]

J: You should blog about this. Premature slash overdue: a marriage.

Yes, my friends, that is in fact a diagnostic/organizing principle about our marriage—that what John would call premature, I would call overdue.

In other news:

The first essay in Meghan Daum’s new book is very much worth the price of admission. It is gloriously honest and scathing and smart, about her relationship with her mother and her mother’s relationship with her mother. I tore through it and can’t wait to get back to it for a second read. I understand that it’s the very point of the book (hence the title, The Unspeakable) that Daum is daring to say what so many people won’t, but I was awed nevertheless by the thrill of bearing witness to such a frank account, by how enlivening that immensely fresh breath of air turned out to be.

We finally got around to Pride, a movie John has long wanted to see and which delivered in all the ways we knew it would—i.e., it’s basically engineered so that you’ll cry every, oh, seven minutes or so. Still and all, in this case I didn’t much mind that level of manipulation. There’s so much to love and to celebrate. An entirely feel-good way to end Thanksgiving and launch ourselves into the slide toward the winter holidays.