In the euphoric stage of our marriage, that lasted for about the first month or so, my husband expressed a touching sentiment, one that would most likely be associated with the likes of Robert Browning for his beloved Elizabeth.
"When it's time for us to, well, you know, die," he muttered, "I want our ashes mingled in the same urn for all eternity."
"You're 235 pounds and I'm no Olive Oyl, is there an urn even big enough?" I rebutted.
Some men just don't appreciate a little levity to offset the seriousness of a situation, so all I got was a grunt. But again I must repeat, his incredible request was so unexpected from a brusque brute who shuns all things soft and sentimental. I've witnessed blushing sailors and construction workers after encountering his salty tongue. But what's a wife to do? I guess hang on with both hands and pray that the years will make him mellower.
Time, she is a whizzing by, and if anything, he's gotten crustier. And here's the really sad part – he's never again mentioned one urn, or both of our ashes mingled for eternity. So why haven't I brought it up? Because instinctively I know his incredible idea isn't remotely possible now. I have a better chance of hitting the Mega Millions Lottery where your odds are about 265 million to one of winning, than both of us being propped up on some mantle piece in a bulging urn.
Our last heated argument was, well, let's just say the dog cried to go outside. "Mark my words," he warned, "if I go before you and I'm lying in a casket and you shed one tear over me, so help me, I'll sit up and spit right into your eye!"
What did he think my reaction would be, one of shock and deep disappointment? I couldn't believe that I actually started laughing because here's a man who's been retired almost as long as he has worked, so he's had a lot of time to think up such crap. But I ask you, how do you go from adoration of one another to being practically one step away from murder? Especially when all along you've both strived to be loyal, loving and sweet – strike the sweet part because lately our tones are reflecting a certain level of irritation and intolerance. After all, how many sports on TV can one woman listen to? And how many of my giggling sisters can he handle when we're all huddled altogether?
"Yep, with all you bunched together, one hand grenade would get you all!" he roars. It’s refreshing to hear laughter in our house because it makes you forget that familiarity breeds contempt. Is that why we're sometimes much nicer and more polite to strangers because we're not privy to their foibles and faults because we don't live with them?
My husband has done so much for me and I believe I have for him too. It's about time we both express gratitude toward one another and quit acting like kids in the winter of our lives. Who am I kidding? That's the way it's always been between us, tumultuous with our words igniting little time bombs within our sturdy walls. But here's the crazy part – when people see us out together they comment on how so very right we look as a couple.
"You both sure have something going between you two," they'll smile; like just our appearance of compatibility is reinforcing their belief that enduring marriages do exist.
But then this man I live with opens his big mouth. "That something is sheer bullheadedness to try and beat the odds of staying together," he quips.
Separate coffins or one urn that would keep us as close as two feet in one shoe? Ouch, that is the question that tries this one couple's souls.