That's right, it's the much ballyhooed "wooden" anniversary. Mrs. Blackwell is going to have to wait another 45 years for gold and another 55 years for a diamond. As for me, I've only got two more to wait for my favorite, the seventh anniversary — wool.
In defiance of outdated traditions, we dispensed with the wood and went out for dinner together and decided not to come home.
|Out celebrating and basking in the glow of|
five wonder-filled years together.
It was a fun night and one that I'll remember thanks to Mrs. Blackwell wisely suggesting I hold off on my second "Rye of the Beholder." (Incidentally, I've never heard of this drink but, boy, it's gooood. Buyer beware though.)
I suppose it's positive when I say that the time has flown. If it had been dragging, that might imply a level of boredom. Welp, I'm happy to report none of that — though Mrs. Blackwell might feel differently.
Her potential digressions from the Blackwell party line notwithstanding, I think it's safe to say this marriage thing is going well. I've learned a lot. Enough to be a marriage expert as it turns out.
You see, a 1993 study recently popularized by Malcolm Gladwell found that a person becomes an expert or "master" of a skill once they've practiced it for 10,000 hours.
Being that I've been married for roughly 43,896 hours, I've now achieved this status more than four times over.
From this lofty perch, I feel a sense of inflated authority and with it, a compulsion — Nay! An obligation! — to dispense some of this wealth of knowledge to you. I'm nothing if not a benevolent expert.
So, here now, some of what I've learned in five years of marriage.
When your wife asks you if the air conditioning is on, that is her way of saying, "Go downstairs and turn the air on."
If, while you're in the kitchen, your wife beckons and randomly asks if you're pouring a glass of water for yourself, this means you're to pour her a glass of water.
If your wife asks, "What are you doing later today?" cancel whatever plans you had for later today.
If your wife asks you, "Is that what you're wearing to the party?" promptly march to your closet and change into an outfit that's the sartorial equivalent of the exact opposite of what you were wearing.
On the matter of your wife's outfits. Well, you're on your own.
|Yes the print I'm holding reads: "I like beer from here." As I|
said, five years might not have flown by for Mrs. Blackwell.
Suffer in silence lest you wish to be confronted with the harsh reality that nature hath no fury like a pregnant woman confronted with man whining about a headache.
Should your wife ask, "how was your day?" Remember always to ask how hers was.
It's doubly helpful if you actually listen to her answer and then lob a followup question pertaining to it. Do this, and you're safe to watch the ballgame that night.
Finally, marriages are singular. They're unique and far too complicated to expect to find fixes online, especially from someone who dubs themselves as some sort of authority on the institution.
If all other advice fails, try marrying the most fantastic person you can find. It's worked well for me.