I have less sympathy for myself when I go back to the beginning. The only problem is, I'm not sure where the beginning is.
We bought our first home in 1992. We had a housewarming party. I was happy. My husband was wonderful and he avoided me like the plague. We had our first fight as a married couple over my finding him with a thin, giggling blonde slung over his shoulder. What part of housewarming was difficult to understand? What conversation between a man and woman he doesn't know ends with the man throwing her over his shoulder? Why wouldn't he spend time with me in our own home?
He called me clingy and I called him thoughtless. He said he was mingling and I said I needed attention too. He told me I was irrational and I thought I wasn't.
I thought we would celebrate our home and our love. I thought we would show the world what a strong and dedicated couple looked like, instead I was filled with jealousy and concern. I was obviously too overbearing and fearful. The fight passed.
We worked hard and we learned we liked home projects. We hiked and laughed and made love. We started building a life. He was so different from me. Often he would ask me if I wanted to go out to dinner and I would ask him if I needed to get cleaned up. No, he would say, we'll just grab a quick bite. But when we arrived there were all his coworkers. Surprise! He forgot. He didn't realize they were there. And so we would join this group of people and my husband, my beautiful, loving husband would forget I was there.
It was my fault of course for expecting a husband to be attentive. After all, we were with friends and they deserved to enjoy his presence. I was just too stuck up to enjoy our friends. I didn't know how to have a good time. I was jealous.
Our quick bite would turn into a late night with my husband to be found among the young, single men who tried to impress the young, single women. He's just competitive, I thought. He can't help himself. He sees a challenge and he can't help himself, but never, ever would it be more than that. I hated myself for being so old-fashioned that I expected my husband to associate with me, but I saw my friends attend to their wives and wondered what was right and what was wrong. Our fights increased over these nights out, but no matter how often I begged him to please tell me if we were meeting friends, he seldom did.
Several years after we married my husband began to work on his Bachelor's program. I was proud of him. He worked hard and he studied hard. All marriages have bumps. I was living my perfect life.
