We needed milk. We always need milk, because apparently, I drink a lot of milk.
“Cheaper to just buy a cow,” my wife says.
Anyway, so we went to get milk. We walk in, and barely get past the produce aisle when someone who knows my wife flags her down.
“Good to see you again Antonietta,” she says. Then, gesturing in my direction, “And is this your husband? The one who hates dogs and thinks they should all be blasted into the sun or whatever?”
OK, first of all, I never said that all dogs should be “blasted into the sun.” I was making a joke in my weekly newspaper column about rocket science research and — y’know what, nevermind, doesn’t matter. Over the years that I’ve been doing this column, I’ve written hundreds of jokes — some of them almost funny — many of which greatly angered people. For some weird reason, now that I’m married, people feel the need to harangue my wife about my silly column.
Last year, I was writing about how the big New Year’s Eve concert in Niagara Falls has kinda fallen apart, and it was sad that Tom Cochrane was the headliner. I think I called him a jabroni and wrote something about his haircut being lame. A lady who works with my wife at the Fort Erie Race Track is a big Cochrane fan, and she did not think my column was funny, so she stopped my wife that week to berate her about my dumb joke.
My point here is that my wife puts up with a lot of crap because of this column, but she always takes it in stride, and never makes it into a whole big thing.
And this week, on the eve our first anniversary as a married couple together, I’ve learned that, really, that’s what marriage is all about: learning to put up with each other’s crap.
I realize that’s not very romantic. It’s our anniversary and I should be writing some sappy sludge about how she’s the light of my life and marriage is a fantastical journey where two souls…