Married. I still like being married. I honestly do. Before I got married I was forewarned by elitist married people that I had a hard road ahead. The sparkler on my finger and the stars in my eyes were doomed to be dimmed by MARRIAGE. Yes, my married colleagues sneered that my marital destiny was to be the obligatory butt of a cosmic joke.
A year and a half later, still waiting for the punch line, I still liked being married. My mom and enjoyed manicures to celebrate my pregnancy. The salon topic of conversation was marriage. I mistakenly proclaimed, “I like being married.” Excluding my mom, snickers ensued from the both ends of the salon, customers and manicurist in a knowing, cackling unison of what was to come.
Nine years later, still waiting for the punch line, I still like being married. Have times been hard? Yes. Does my ring still sparkle? Yes, after I take it our of the drawer and clean it. I have a diaper changing, mommy-in-the-trenches band now. Do I have stars in my eyes? Yes, after a good night’s sleep and a healthy dose of retinol. Marriage is work. I get it. I still don’t get the joke. Our marriage has yet to be sucked into the vacuum of the cosmic joke that marriage is a lifelong sentence. I should be so lucky. Make no joke about that.