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I have a husband I'm still training. He's been with me for 10 years, now. (We got married outdoors on one of those breezy-blue June days, and by the end of July our son was born. Our son is not why we got married, he's why we got married when we did.) I'm pretty sure we've done something right because after all this time we still like each other. Loving is the easy part-liking is hard. If, after thousands of nights bathed in the heat of the same slumbering body, you've never shuddered with disgust at the sound of that person breathing in and out, you're probably okay. Another surefire sign of "okay-ness" is if you've never daydreamed about how you'd decorate your house or apartment after your significant bother moved out. My husband and I have two kids now, and we've given them Scottish and Irish names, despite the fact that neither of us is Scottish, and the only reason my husband is the least bit Irish is because his biological grandfather, who never actually married his grandmother, was allegedly a drunken Irishman. It's a heritage we're proud to honor.
Karen can be reached at karen@coffeehouseforwriters.com.
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