
I don’t want to wind up like so many older couples who go to restaurants and sit stiffly, like frozen popcicles, staring at anything but each other. It’s true that my husband’s eyes sometimes glaze over in the middle of one of my sentences, but at least he’s looking at me when it happens.
Maybe one reason he and I still talk is that we’re still friends. We’ve accepted the fact that we’re both flawed. Sure, there are times when we both wonder, "What on earth was I thinking when I married that that . . . that . . . unreasonable, selfish . . ?" I’m sure, too, that those questions would pop up no matter who we had married.
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