Smart Marriage

According to the relationship experts who sent me an announcement about an upcoming seminar, it’s no longer enough to have a regular old, vanilla-style marriage. We now have to have “Smart Marriages.” From the pages of this same brochure scream the titles for break-out sessions on “Hot Monogamy” and “Ultimate Relationships.” I feel as if I were walking around the county fairgrounds and hearing the cries of the carneys: “Cold beer, ice cold beer! Hot Monogamy! Come on in-get your cold beer, your Hot Monogamy-win this stuffed bear for the little lady!!” Makes me tired just to think of it.I wonder what these so-called experts would say if they could peek in on my “marriage” to Steve. I use quotation marks around the word “marriage,” because although we’ve not legally tied the knot, we’ve entwined our hearts and lives for the past nine years.

Here’s Steve, working at his desk, wearing a rumpled t-shirt, ancient fleece pants, and bobby socks. The language of Armani is not spoken here. His hair, after a long night’s sleep, looks rather like a bouffant fired up with “‘roid” rage. And with his two-day growth of beard, he could be going for that Colin Farrell look, but I’m not certain he knows who Colin Farrell is.

If the experts looked over in my direction they would see me wearing black sweatpants from Target, much loved despite the frayed back seam I’ve hand-stitched to keep from showing off my butt crack. They might also notice the flat hair and lack of make-up. I have, however, showered and brushed my teeth. That should count for something.

Looking around our condo, these same experts would notice that Steve’s office is neatly arranged. He has file folders for everything, and they’re all tucked away where he can easily retrieve them. My office, on the other hand, is far beyond even the help of Oprah’s organizers. File folders? Yes, I have them-see that box over there? Put documents in them and hide them away? What, are you kidding? How would I find anything again?

After perusing the seminar brochure, I’m beginning to wonder if we are “Smart” enough and “Hot” enough for the experts. I can’t say for sure, but I do know that we laugh a lot and would rather hang out with each other than almost anything. He’s a linguist and a writer. I’m a former psychotherapist and now a writer. Words are our “thing.” Each day, there’s at least one gauntlet thrown down. “I’ll bet you don’t know what bloviating means,” one of us will say in a mock-haughty tone.

“Oh, yeah?”

“You’re on!” We shout out our answers as we run to the dictionary, often colliding in the doorway.

“See? I told you,” the winner says, with all due humility.

“It means to discourse pompously or boastfully at length.

Sounds like your brother, Ralph.”

In no time, the game might begin again.

“I bet you don’t know how to pronounce, k-u-d-o-s!”

“Oh, rats-is it koo-doze, or cue-doze-I can never remember!” Even though Steve speaks five languages, I win my share of these verbal jousts.

We fuss over our cat, our baby, something fierce. When I get up in the morning, the first thing I ask is, “How did the boys sleep last night?” We can’t sleep together because Steve snores, as does our cat, Turtleman; so they sleep together while I, the one with sleep apnea, slumber alone with my C-Pap machine as it forces air into my nose through a tube in the plastic face mask. When I’m all wired up, I look a bit like Hannibal Lecter in snorkel gear.

We’re a very co-dependent family, the three of us.

Turtleman, who dodged a cancer bullet in April, provides ample material for the humans who “channel” him. If someone were to eavesdrop on us she might hear Turtleman saying:
“You know, Daddy, I really think you should do what Mommy wants. She’s really good to you.”

Or: “Isn’t my mommy silly-silly mommy…”

Or: “No, no, I don’t want Friskies, I want Fancy Feast, Daddy, don’t you know that? Does Mommy have to do everything around here?”

You’ll notice that I’ve not mentioned our sex life. That’s because, well, it’s none of your business, except to say that we met at a Tantra Yoga class. However, we’re not about to have a video cam installed in our house, and you will not see us on Dr. Phil. We have no plans to “tell all,” but we’re very happy in our own zany, disheveled, cat-like way. “Smart Marriage?” Depends on how you define “smart.”

* * *
Rosie Sorenson’s work has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Contra Costa Times, the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, the Berkeley Daily Planet, and the University of Iowa “Daily Palette” (curated by the Iowa Review). Her essays have also been broadcast on KQED-FM as part of its Perspectives series. Her essay “Safe Haven” was named Listener Favorite for 2006. She also won Honorable Mention in the Erma Bombeck International Writing Competition in 2007. In addition, one of her poems appears in the 25th Anniversary edition of Mobius, the Poetry Journal. Readers can read more of her work at www.damngoodwriters.com.