Notes on Marriage: Year One

              I have been married for a little over a year.  As I’ve reflected on Year One, I must say that I’ve learned so many of the oft hidden nuances of love and marriage with my best friend who likes to smooch.  One of those nuances is the feeling you get when you’ve demonstrated your love for your spouse, and they have no idea that you did, so they don’t quite understand your look of quiet satisfaction in the knowledge that you are a ‘giver’ and possibly ‘love them more’ than they love you.  It’s a selfless kind of smug superiority.  Allow me to explain. 

                Saturday morning my delightful husband woke up early and walked to our favorite local bakery and bought me a ham and cheese croissant, literally the same size as my face, which we all know is substantial.  It’s one of my favorite breakfasts.  I cut the croissant in half, deciding to save the rest for him to enjoy post-swim, as he immediately left for the gym to get his daily exercise.

                I was content with my portion and savoring each bite and drinking the Army-strong coffee, made perfectly sweet with enough cream and fake sugar to make my liver gently weep.  After a half-hour, I glanced at the remaining croissant and it beckoned.  No, I thought, I’m saving that for Ben.  He will enjoy it and be touched by my generosity and I will be the best husband in all the land.  But like James Bond taught us, Never Say Never.

                I held fast for about 15 minutes.  I swear to you, the croissant made an overt gesture, willing me to finish it.  I struggled to stay seated and attempted to look away, grabbing my Smithsonian magazine in a desperate attempt to find the cover article “Man on the Moon” more interesting than noshing on the remaining French delicacy.  I held myself in check for about 30 seconds and then, without a shred of self-control or shame, I enjoyed the other half of the croissant, assuaging my guilt by reminding myself that Ben is focused on his physique much more than I and probably wouldn’t want to eat the croissant anyway.  It worked.  Guilt was gone, y’all, and the croissant was devoured.

                When Ben came home, after more than an hour of swimming, looking all fit and trim, he was completely unaware that I had planned on saving him some of the croissant but hadn’t.  He asked for, and I made him, oatmeal with blueberries, which he consumed happily and heartily.  I sat across from him, self-satisfied and smiling, basking in the knowledge that I had literally (almost) sacrificed for him. I’m a good person, y’all.  Truly.