But I'd be lying if I said there weren't a number of things she
could definitely work on. For example recently we had to replace our
hamper. Now, there are two steps to replacing an object in daily use:
1) buy a new object, and 2) throw out the old object. I feel the order
here is important, but my wife tends to throw out the old hamper or
automobile or defibrillator first, then leisurely shop for a new one. I
think she's afraid that if she doesn't chuck the old hamper swiftly, with
extreme prejudice, I will intercept it on the way to the dump and use it
to store rusty bolts rather than part with it, eventually suffocating
my family under the weight of all this repurposed junk. Where she gets
these paranoid theories, and exactly how often they've been confirmed
in the past, I'd rather not say. The point is that once the children
and I began tossing our dirty clothes in the hamperless corner of the
upstairs hallway, it wasn't long before we felt free to toss them pretty
much anywhere we pleased. The kids have even taken to tossing their
used underwear on the lawn, the effect of which, when combined with an
old canoe and my systematic under-fertilization of the grass, has been
the decrease of property values in our neighborhood by an average of
15 percent.

In a nutshell my wife tends to act rashly and emotionally, whereas I
take the more prudent approach of never acting at all. One morning as
she waded through the dirty clothes in our upstairs hallway she decided
on a whim that its walls needed repainting in a different color. As
always I counseled patience but she ignored me and drove off to buy the
paint. Then, as if just to prove me right, she got pulled over on Forest
Ave and her car was towed because I had neglected to register it that
year. So you can see our different styles are often at odds.

Sometimes I wish our catholic retreat had prepared us a little better
for these personality clashes. For the non-catholics out there, this
retreat is a weekend excursion engaged couples take to monasteries or
convents where you learn the ins and outs of married life from people who
have taken vows of poverty just to avoid the ordeal you're facing. In
truth I have very fond memories of our retreat, which took place in a
hilly, secluded part of Gilroy California. As we sat with several other
couples listening to a young priest talk about the various methods of
birth control sanctioned by the church, the blessings of a life full of
surprises, and the tax benefits of a large family, my bride-to-be took
copious notes, which I thought was a great sign, while I ogled the nuns. I
couldn't help it, I've always had a thing for over-dressed women. For
me the more that's left to the imagination the better, because I have
this unbelievable imagination. Anyway the class was going fine and I was
making lots of new cloistered friends, but that night I sensed a certain
distance between me and my fiancée. Then I realized that for the first
time in two years we were sleeping in separate quarters. Oh I'm kidding
of course! I don't really have a thing for nuns. Though I have to say
I felt a strange attraction to the priest. Anyway, getting back to my
betrothed, to whom I'm also strangely attracted, was difficult after
spending time with those nuns, I'm sure I don't need to tell you. I was
spoiled for good. But I did go through with the wedding that fall and
it was a lovely, fun time. Every nun I invited showed. They even enjoyed
my bachelor party. I still keep in touch with the ones who talk.

You know, when I think about how much fun my wife and I have had together
it seems awfully tacky to harp on the minor differences between us. I'm
going to ask her to stop doing that. And to use the old hamper I rescued
from the incinerator while we wait for a neighbor to leave us a new one
some night.

John Lengyel lives in Cohassset with a large family that includes his
wife, who has an excellent sense of humor but probably doesn't need to
hear about this article.