it has been said that the early days and weeks of marriage bring out the truth about your spouse. but i didn’t quite expect to have the truth about myself revealed, as well. being single until the age of thirty-four brought with it its ups and downs. from the days of feeling lonely, sad, and unlovable to the days of feeling free, independent, and happy with singledom, i’d felt it all. and somewhere along the way i became set in my ways. oh, so very set. living alone, i’d gotten used to my things staying where i put them and my apartment looking the way i wanted it to look.
those days are long gone. not only are we still living among the boxes and piles of stuff about which we say, “we’ll deal with that later”, but we’re learning just how differently the other one handles that fact. and through these past few weeks, i have come to realize that my expectations of the state of the apartment haven’t changed from what they were when i lived alone. and that’s just plain unrealistic.
this is not my way of saying that david is a slob. he simply has a more relaxed attitude toward daily life. it isn’t wrong or bad; it’s just different from what i am used to. and yet it has, at times, driven me batty. just as the fact that i am a tidier-than-thou neatnik has driven him up and down every wall in the place.
so this is me, admitting that i may be more like monica geller than even i would like to be, telling my husband that i love him always, and apologizing in advance for any time i get my nose out of joint just because his socks haven’t found their way to the hamper. all i ask is that he is patient with me, too.