If I could give one piece of marriage advice (which I have no business doing) it would be this: Marry someone you like spending time with. There is pressure out there to find someone who makes the same money, or who have the same interests. I don’t think any of that is as important as if you simply enjoy each others company. If you feel at home when your with each other. There is no one who gets me more then my husband. And that seems impossible if you look at our pedigrees or our DVR choices. He comes from a science background and I barely know what the periodic table is. Our familys (though both crazy) are crazy in very different ways. The love we have has got us through the rough moments in our marriage but the like has got us through the day to day. I’m able to forgive his excessive farting (and it’s fucking excessive) and he’s able to move past my ability to only watch full blown psychos on TV. I’m using our zero divorces as evidence.
I’ve seen men who marry women who are beautiful but lack substance. Women who take pride in their husbands money and their own beauty. But they didn’t earn the money. They married it. And it can (and usually does) divorce them. Also, men who marry trophy wives HAVE to know beauty is fleeting? I mean, we all grow old dummies. We can fight it as much as want but it’s coming for us. I’m not saying we should all go become mud people, throw dirt on our faces and stop courtesy farting in the bathroom. I shower and sometimes shave my armpits but being beautiful or having money can’t be your everything. It will destroy you. Our society has created this belief that if you look good for you husband, your relationship will stay intact. It’s total bullshit. The days I felt the most connected and in love with my husband were right after I gave birth to my son. I was in mesh panties, there were lots of discussions about my pooping (they don’t release you until you poop) and I was 30 pounds heavier. And it was the most intense love we ever shared. It was me and my husband against the world. We were learning how to care for this tiny human. Our sweet baby. It was our journey and not one single fuck was given about how I looked.
Not that there is nothing wrong with looking good. I get a little pep in my step when I know my hair is clean and I’m wearing something that doesn’t have urine or spit up on it. And you WILL NOT see me outside my without concealer under my eyes. But I know that true intimacy isn’t about how I look, what my job is, or where I went to school. It’s about being vulnerable and honest and making a commitment to stand by each other.
Also, I don’t worry that my husband will leave me for some pretty young thing. (I worry more he’ll leave me because I talk about the New York housewives too much) I know that there are younger, prettier, more educated woman out there. They don’t pose a threat because there is one thing they will never have: our history. They weren’t there through the tears, the laughter, the nights in the hospital after giving birth, our children’s first words. These moments matter. They matter more than any number on a scale or wrinkle in my face. I heard once someone say, that trying something new with your partner was the best way to save a marriage. At first glance I thought, what cheap marriage advice (and that I should stop getting marital advice from Vh1 reality shows), but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. It’s not the task or activity together but the time together. If you enjoy that time, then that’s a really good sign you have something special.