I haven't written a blog post for over a year and a half. 'Write more' has been on my list of things to do for the entire eighteen months (along with lose weight, eat better, organize my house, and be nicer). Wait just a minute, that's been the same list I've had for 40+ years. Ouch. That realization stings a little.
Ah, well. Such is life, oui? Seems fitting I should start again in a cynical, testy mood. A bit of therapy writing. This one may or may not get published. I'll wait until tomorrow.
So . . . top ten reasons to stay married:
1. Divorcee is a horrible label Trust me. People will always associate it with brokenness (accurate if referring to finances) and some antiquated notion that you are after someone else's husband (as if--seriously, maybe in movies from the 1950's, but not now--remember, we had husbands). I really should have killed him and then I'd be a widow! And possibly a death-row inmate.
2. House repairs, car maintenance, masculine-type (I shudder at the sexism here, but bare with me) odd jobs I actually like mowing my lawn and shoveling snow is almost as good as cross country skiing for exercise! I get quite offended when people offer to do those two things for me. But I just paid over $300.00 for someone to spray earwigs because I hate pesticides. I paid over $500.00 to get my sprinkler system redone. I can't even change a light bulb because I'm likely to fall off a chair (see my posts about Multiple Sclerosis). I know having a husband doesn't guarantee that he'll do these traditional jobs and heaven knows, given a choice and another paycheck, I'd rather pay someone else and have a husband do the cooking. For now, my son-in-law could use a break.
3. Only one paycheck I know,there's no guarantee that marriage provides two people who are gainfully employed either, but there's been no chance of two paychecks for me for the past 23 years unless I work two jobs. Which I have. Often. I do get paid twice a month now--retirement and social security! Not quite enough to support my estate sale/thrift shop habits.
4. No one to complain about adult children with (Yes, I know that I just ended that incomplete sentence with a preposition, but remember, I'm in a testy mood, so get over it) Please understand that I have other people with whom to complain about adult children. (happy?) Most of my friends have adult children. Most of those children are millennials. We sometimes vent. Most of my friends don't have a problem with any of them living with us--at least we'd see them more often. And all of us are remarkably fond of the grandchildren they provide us, but well, let's face it. They think we're old and not smart. It might be fun to complain about them with the other genetic donor.
5. Grandchildren bragging rights I know that my grandchildren are superior in every possible way to any other child in the universe, but sometimes my friends dispute this. Maybe their grandfather would agree with me. Maybe he does. He hasn't spoken to me in 23 years. (but I digress--that belongs in the "Top Ten Reasons to Get Divorced)
I need to take a break. I actually made something for dinner (my average is once a week) and it is 7:55. Also, there's a chick flick on Netflix I want to watch and my adorable golden retriever wants to snuggle with me. Or I may just go to bed and read for however long I want. Uh, oh, I see where this train of thought is going. There may not be ten reasons. I'm not lonely--I bought a puppy. I'm not poor; my needs are well met as are most of my wants. My son-in-law never complains (to me). I have the best friends in the world even if they do have cute grandchildren and not one of them accuses me of potential husband stealing. My marriage was kind of a train wreck except for the incredible children it produced (who won't be millennials forever). Hmmm . . . being single kind of works for me, I guess. And ever since George Clooney got married, I've sort of given up finding someone I'd consider.
One more thing. I'm posting this tonight. If I wait until tomorrow, I might have to ask my daughter for help. And she'll think I'm old and . . . well, you know!
