How To Save Your Marriage

It was a bright summer Saturday, and I was in the passenger's seat of a white Ford Taurus. Like most white Ford Tauruses, this one was a piece of crap, and it was owned by my girlfriend. The air conditioning was broken, and the fan was no real substitute.

After a brief stop at a Subway Sandwich Shop in some southern suburb of Saint Paul, Steph continued to speed toward Ames, toward her friend's wedding. I buried myself in the Star Tribune's miscellany and tried to forget the heat. Three hours later, I donned my shirt and tie as we walked from the parking lot to the chapel, some Protestant thing, while Steph asked me to hurry - we were nearly late.

It was a dull affair - common among the non-Catholics, as you know - and the reception was no better. We ate the provided pork, shared a dance, and eventually made our way back home. Some distance had passed before I realized that Steph and I were not speaking. As the new driver, I used my exalted position to gain control of the Taurus' stereo, playing Bush's debut album at some volume, remembering when I was younger, when it was my soundtrack, in Nathan's basement, playing pool, hearing "Comedown" for the thousandth time.

By the time we reached the truck stop, just north of the Iowa border, Steph had reclaimed her CD player, and we were hearing the same Dar Williams songs repeatedly. Appropriately, one song was titled, "Iowa", and I knew from previous discussions that Steph loved these lines more than any:

So I asked a friend about it on a bad day, her husband had just
Left her, and she sat down in the chair he left behind
She said, "What is love, where did it get me?
Whoever thought of love is no friend of mine."

The silence broke late that night, in her third floor apartment, when I agreed with her assessment. "This isn't going to work out, is it?"

* * *

We've all been dragged to a wedding before -- has it ever been a fantastic occasion? Has it ever even been fun? Or has it always bordered on awful? It's certainly been boring. And, as illustrated in the example above, it can be acutely stressful. Now, I'm a reasonable man, and I know that not everyone's relationship will fail, as mine did, as a result of reunion attendance. But you are warned -- if you bring your husband or wife to the reunion, you're probably doomed to be divorced.

I can't stop you from bringing your spouse to the reunion -- I mean, I can... I'm a pretty strong dude with a nasty temper that likes to throw his weight around... but I probably won't. All I can say is that spouses (sans those now named Iseman, Patterson, Provines, Thome, et al) are very, very strongly discouraged. Please note that you will be bringing this spouse to an event where:

A.> They have to shake hands with people they don't give a shit about

B.> They have to seem interested in your/our boring high school stories

C.> Unlike a good wedding, they won't have an open bar to keep them company

D.> Their very presence will make some people uncomfortable, namely:
1.> The spouse
2.> You, trying to make sure they're having fun
3.> The Rest of Us, half-heartedly trying to keep them involved in conversation

E.> Good manners dictate that, while the spouse is around, we shouldn't talk about all the people you nailed back in high school. And everyone knows what good manners are spread throughout the class of 1997.

I support the idea of Spousal Saturday. I ask my friend Millie to make arrangements to tour BC on Saturday afternoon or evening -- nothing too early in the day, as we'll need some time to recover from the previous night.

Further plans outside of the Friday night reunion and the Saturday walking tour of BC will be done by someone other than myself (and Millie). If somebody decides to gather spouses and kids to go fly kites or attend Mass or play charades or talk about childbirth or watch Baby Einstein videos, let me know, and I'll post the details on this website.

* * *

I have yet to decide about the location of the reunion - I'm still weighing some pros and cons. We'll talk about that later.