MARRIAGE IS hard work. Those of us who are living it understand that. Those who aren’t? Well, they’re sort of like my 11-year-old daughter, Eve, whose idea of married bliss plays out on reality shows where the wedding is not the beginning, but the end.
Unfortunately, no matter how many times David Tutera hosts “My Fair Wedding,” and no matter how many women “Say Yes to the Dress,” marriage isn’t a fashion show. It’s bigger than that.
Marriage is what happens after you’ve maxed out your credit cards to get other people drunk at your reception, and you realize that the wedding gifts won’t cover the bill. Marriage is the first overdue payment. It’s the second major argument. It’s the last straw.
What’s marriage, you ask? It’s that thing that takes place when your spouse has put on work boots and used your last nerve as a trampoline. That’s when you need a secret weapon; a go-to move that’s as tricky as an Allen Iverson crossover. My wife has such a move. I call it her “bread and butter.”
No, really. It’s bread and butter. READ MORE