While it has been 10 years since I first danced in my parents backyard to the Spice Girls with my husband, I have to admit that these years we have systematically decided and figured out most of the faults and annoying habits of each other. Now as my husband and I celebrate our tenth anniversary, I feel inspired to share the secret recipe of how to live in harmony with the opposite sex within the cherished institution known as Friendly Fire....
So really what is the secret recipe of a successful marriage??
Overall, I think that Secrets and Marriage have to go hand in hand. If I told Tyler everything I did knew or thought, our marriage would crumble under the massive evidence of my crazy behavior.
I think that is why women everywhere have formed the "Wife Secrecy Act" which is the true recipe of how a couple can survive the first 10 years of marriage, but I have to confess many are against this. And the government and banks aren’t working with us on this secret either. Let me explain...
The government asks for your height and weight on your driver’s license... seems fine, since I think everyone just picks a number that they appreciate the most. Tyler looks at my license and says "I don't think this is right". That is a complete violation of my "Wife Secrecy Act" which ensures that weight can be kept secret from a husband if the fat wife so wishes - no means no!
Furthermore, a woman doesn’t have to tell her husband her weight even under threat of credit card removal, and she will be found innocent of murder if he persists with this line of questioning. Armed with those BIG BOLD NUMBERS, Tyler can clearly see in black and white that I am fat in addition to being short, or "petite plus" as the fashionistas say.
I am devastated, but will get over it. But before I can recover from this blow, there is another major violation of the Wife Secrecy Act. Tyler asks me what that $150 was for that I just spent an hour earlier at Target. The banks have violated the Wife Secrecy Act by letting him track my spending on-line real- time. I have no time to formulate my lies and excuses about this expenditure as I am caught by surprise.
"It was only $149.00, Tyler, why must you always exaggerate". What I really needed was an hour to set up my sobbing plea for a new rug because of the poop stains, pulled threads and chocolate spills. The bank has thrown me off my game, played the ace, and eaten my last cookie.
I mean it won’t be long before Tyler can probably see via a secret car camera hidden in the rearview mirror that I have a bag of chocolate covered cinnamon bears stuffed beside the car seat with a Macho Diet Coke in the cup holder and a skittles bag with only the yucky yellows left.
I plead for everyone in a marriage to foster mutual respect - he must respect my secrets and I will respect his silence about my secrets. We can live happily ever after, me with my credit card and he with our new, clean rug.