How To Have A Successful Relationship In Twenty-Six Months Or Less
(Spring 2007)
On the sixth of every month my husband and I celebrate the anniversary of our first date. It’s really just an excuse to take one day out a month to remind each other that we aren’t just parents or employees or homeowners; we’re also a couple. I usually get him a silly present to commemorate the event. The first time, I wrapped up a box of Pop-Tarts. He initially thought Pop-Tarts was a traditional present to give someone when you’ve been dating for two months, but he figured out over the course of the next few months (after receiving a pitcher of Jell-O, a much-needed laundry basket, and a few cookbooks) that the presents were more personal than traditional. For our eighth-month anniversary, he surprised me with a ten-dollar gift card to a candy store. The man was catching on.
Three days after our twenty-month anniversary, we swore in front of our friends and family to love and be loyal to each other for eternity. Apparently, many couples no longer wanted the downer “’til death do us part” uttered during the happiest occasion of their lives, so our officiate substituted the more optimistic “eternity” in the oath. My beloved and I had thought it was a little grandiose to make such a sweeping promise, but – being lazy and uncreative – we swore eternity rather than come up with a more practical phrase.
Eternity is now a joke for us. Whenever we are extolling the virtues of our marriage, we gush over how lucky we are to be together for eternity. And when I’m mad at him, he’s quick to point out that I’d better get over it because I’m stuck with him for eternity.
Since we just celebrated our twenty-six-month anniversary, I’ll shoot back, “Eternity minus twenty-six!”
Last weekend was pretty ordinary. We spent one day running errands together: grocery shopping, doing laundry, making granola. We shared popcorn and blankets in front of the TV that night, and the next morning we went out for breakfast. As I stole his pancakes and he finished my hash browns, my husband marveled that we could spend the last thirty-six hours together without wanting to kill each other.
And that’s when it happened. When we realized why our relationship, all twenty-six months of it, has been so successful. It’s shown in the silly gifts, in the reoccurring jokes, and in the sharing of pancakes. It’s in being able to do the ordinary together and celebrate the extraordinary. But mostly it’s summed up in this one creed: you’ve got to like the one you love.
You’ve got to like the one you love. After all, you’re stuck with them for eternity.
Minus twenty-six.
On the sixth of every month my husband and I celebrate the anniversary of our first date. It’s really just an excuse to take one day out a month to remind each other that we aren’t just parents or employees or homeowners; we’re also a couple. I usually get him a silly present to commemorate the event. The first time, I wrapped up a box of Pop-Tarts. He initially thought Pop-Tarts was a traditional present to give someone when you’ve been dating for two months, but he figured out over the course of the next few months (after receiving a pitcher of Jell-O, a much-needed laundry basket, and a few cookbooks) that the presents were more personal than traditional. For our eighth-month anniversary, he surprised me with a ten-dollar gift card to a candy store. The man was catching on.
Three days after our twenty-month anniversary, we swore in front of our friends and family to love and be loyal to each other for eternity. Apparently, many couples no longer wanted the downer “’til death do us part” uttered during the happiest occasion of their lives, so our officiate substituted the more optimistic “eternity” in the oath. My beloved and I had thought it was a little grandiose to make such a sweeping promise, but – being lazy and uncreative – we swore eternity rather than come up with a more practical phrase.
Eternity is now a joke for us. Whenever we are extolling the virtues of our marriage, we gush over how lucky we are to be together for eternity. And when I’m mad at him, he’s quick to point out that I’d better get over it because I’m stuck with him for eternity.
Since we just celebrated our twenty-six-month anniversary, I’ll shoot back, “Eternity minus twenty-six!”
Last weekend was pretty ordinary. We spent one day running errands together: grocery shopping, doing laundry, making granola. We shared popcorn and blankets in front of the TV that night, and the next morning we went out for breakfast. As I stole his pancakes and he finished my hash browns, my husband marveled that we could spend the last thirty-six hours together without wanting to kill each other.
And that’s when it happened. When we realized why our relationship, all twenty-six months of it, has been so successful. It’s shown in the silly gifts, in the reoccurring jokes, and in the sharing of pancakes. It’s in being able to do the ordinary together and celebrate the extraordinary. But mostly it’s summed up in this one creed: you’ve got to like the one you love.
You’ve got to like the one you love. After all, you’re stuck with them for eternity.
Minus twenty-six.
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