This year my husband and I celebrated our golden wedding anniversary. Even though our love grows stronger each year, I’d be the biggest liar if I said there were never moments that one of us didn’t want to head for the hills, but for many reasons the knot remained tied.
When our sons were young, at the end of heated exchanges we rationalized we didn’t make enough money to support two households, called a truce and went to bed. By the time we were empty nesters, our justification for living with each other’s imperfections was that we were hopelessly co-dependent. He couldn’t do laundry or cook, and I couldn’t (and still can’t) put gas in my car — or, according to Hubby Dearest, turn out a light.
While out to dinner with friends to celebrate their 49th and our 50th, the soon-to-be married waiter questioned all of us as to the secret of our marriages’ longevity. All four of us had the same kneejerk response — you have to know how to argue. We also agreed we’ve mellowed through the years as to things that will ignite a blowup.
Hubby’s propensity for living in a sauna and mine for living in a freezer will probably cause battles “’til death do us part.” Long ago we agreed to leave the air conditioner set at 77 degrees. “Round One” begins when he moves the thermostat up every time we (or I) leave home, even if we are (or I am) only gone 10 minutes. You can rightly conclude I have a lot more insulation around my bones than he does, thus the temperature I say is comfortable, he insists will cause him to freeze to death.
At the end of a day, if I come home to a “sauna,” the idea of cooking in a hot house sets me in a tizzy. The only thing my spouse can cook is toast, so telling him to prepare dinner over a hot stove is never an option. Recently, before we began “Round Two,” I decided to try a new strategy. My husband likes to find ways to cut expenses, so I set out to prove to him electricity cost more when he constantly changes the setting. I called our power company.
I must confess I wouldn’t have placed the call if I didn’t know it would score points for me. The expert came through. She said that unless we’re gone at least 4 hours, it isn’t cost efficient. Even worse, his habit could also ruin the calibration of the thermostat.
Hubby then inquired about possible reasons our bill is higher than friends who have a bigger house than ours and keep their thermostat in the low 70s. I knew he was hoping the expert would say the real villain was my tendency for leaving lights on when I leave a room for a split second.
Even I was surprised to discover that the guilty electricity gobblers under my roof and not theirs are our two computers, two DVRs, and — get ready for this — my stove! Our friends have one computer that is used perhaps one hour a day and, since they like the same television programs, only need one DVR. As much as Hubby was looking for ways to lower the bill, sharing one car is easier than the thought of sharing one computer or DVR. Both computers are in almost constant use, and other than the news, we rarely watch the same programs. He likes gore whereas I like — these are his words, not mine — “stupid.”
Now to my evil stove. Unlike my friends, I actually use mine. They wouldn’t notice if theirs was unplugged. Dining out with friends is a big part of our social life since we moved to an active adult community. Last week we ate out nine times — two breakfasts, three lunches and four dinners, which is unusual for us. Budget and new bulges dictated we should eat in this week. But that was before my call to the power company, a call that immediately preceded one from neighbors who invited us to “run out” for a bite.
“The restaurant has a coupon which is too good to pass up,” I told my husband when I hung up.
“Wasn’t this going to be our austerity-diet week?” Hubby kind of growled.
I looked at him straight in the eye and said. “It is. I’m doing my part to cut the electric bill by not using the stove.”
Hubby’s loud chuckle reminded me of the infinitesimal times humor had been the super glue that repaired many cracks throughout our 50-year marriage.
Eda Suzanne, a retired teacher, is now a free-lance writer and author of the humorous book, "Retired, NOT Expired."