The Roadkill Wife
AND HOW TO CORRECTLY PLACE THE TOILET PAPER IN THE HOLDER
photo courtesy of in a box with a fox
“Oh, thank god, I was afraid you were dead!” my friend Annabella screamed into my ear when I finally picked up my mobile phone.
“Mmmwhat?” I cracked an eye open. The clock read 4:42 AM. Almost noon-ish, London time. Don’t you love people with no understanding of time zones whatsoever?
Annabella wasn’t fazed by my grogginess; she jabbered right on, “I read that this guy got arrested when he ran over his new wife in Las Vegas, and I was like, oh my god! I know her! I am SO glad you’re OK.”
When I was conscious, I found out the details of Katie Martindale and James Olwine’s honeymoon gone so, so wrong: they got into a huge fight on their trip home from their Vegas wedding getaway and when the bride stormed out of the car, her husband ran her over!
To love and to hold! To hit and to run!
Annabella wasn’t the only one concerned. My new father-in-law called my husband because he “just wanted to make sure you haven’t run her over, son!”
“I’m sure it’s not that people think he’s a psycho or you guys have a crazy relationship,” Mother assured when I called her that afternoon from the Bellagio lobby, where I sat staring at the ceiling, enamored of Dale Chihuly’s massive Fiori di Como. “You just inspire very strong actions and reactions!”
I couldn’t help thinking about an article in the New York Times years ago about how the divorce rate was not as high as it was often reported and was, in fact, in decline. Is this because couples last such a short time that they can simply annul their unions? Or is it that they just run each other over?
I didn’t care whether it was 50 percent of marriages that end in divorce or 41. I felt like I do whenever I catch one of those really hot shows on the TV, like 24 or Lost: ugh, can’t handle the suspense, must know what happens next, must wait ‘til the whole show comes out on DVD.
I wanted to know our odds.
So I did what I always do when I have a question: I hit up Google.
Guess what? According to Jeffry H. Larson, professor and chairman of the Family and Marriage Therapy Program at Brigham Young University and author of the book Should We Stay Together?, the odds are slim at best!
There are several factors that predict marital dissatisfaction and marital success according to his Marriage Triangle theory, which compares individual traits, couple traits and context. The success stuff is pretty typical: communication, common ground, understanding, blah blah blah.
The dissatisfaction indicators though? It’s so us: high neurotic traits, impulsiveness, vulnerability to stress, anger, dysfunctional beliefs, dissimilarity, short acquaintanceship, premarital sex and promiscuity, cohabitation (if sporadic due to jet-setting), younger age, parental divorce and chronic marital conflict (his), family disapproval (well, at first, anyway).
“We’re an equation for disaster!” I said giggling the next morning, as we sailed toward Hoover Dam on Lake Mead.
“I think we cancel each other out,” my shiny new husband said, pulling me close and kissing my forehead, oh-so-sweet.
But before I could get too smug about escaping the Marriage Triangle doom and gloom with our brand of creative mathematics, we had A Fight. On the way back to California from our Las Vegas wedding getaway, no less. How ironic!
I can’t say how many statistics and surveys I’ve seen that say the number one reason couples fight is finances. The number’s in the hundreds, at least. Generic as it sounds, that’s exactly what the bicker-fest was about.
The husband had suggested I close my account with my bank now that we had an account at his bank. It was the word “we”: suddenly I realized my husband was going to be able to see ALL my financial shenanigans.
It’s not that I have anything to be ashamed about. I consider myself a very financially responsible person. It’s the fact that if he wants to, he can totally see everything I’m doing. It’s not that I’m doing anything that’s wrong or suspect, either. It’s just that hello, I’m a SCORPIO. I’m a walking information management department.
Plus, I don’t need my husband knowing I spend this much on nails or that much on facial things or teeth bleaching things or waxes or microdermabrasions. What happens when I get Botox? Or collagen in my lips? Or whatever tucked and pulled and plucked? He’ll know then, too! What’s the charm in a woman who looks fabulous if you know it’s a push-up bra or silicone and injections of diluted chemical weapons and fat? That’s DISGUSTING! Who would knowingly fuck that?!
I was beside myself. In my mind, I’d already been exposed as a mere mortal with access to a good dermatologist, a mortal who needed brow waxes and whose vagina wasn’t just naturally devoid of coarse shrubbery—just like everyone else.
“STOP THE CAR!” I screamed at my groom, crying hysterically, my voice as red and puffy as my eyes.
“WHY? DO YOU WANT ME TO RUN YOU OVER?” he yelled back.
After a brief silence then we burst out laughing. Which enabled us to peacefully conclude that we would maintain individual accounts and have this joint one for household and couple expenses. You know, kind of like paying club dues.
It’s all very reasonable now. But at the time, I really could have run him over. And I’m sure the feeling was mutual.
So when my friend Simone called me to hang out tonight and chirped, “So! How is married life?” I wanted to reach over the line and strangle her.
Those newlyweds who constantly gush, “OMG! I LOVE MY SPOUSE!!!ONE11! EVERYTHING IS SO FABULOUS!!!!” are on some seriously great mood-altering meds.
Because it’s not fabulous; it’s weird. It’s weird getting used to having someone in my space 24/7. It’s weird having to check with someone when making plans. It’s weird having to explain some simple life choices and even weirder to have to combine your future plans with those of someone else. It’s weird defining even the simplest tasks and delegating responsibilities to ensure a household works as close to the way both parties would like as possible. It’s deep stuff and menial stuff, but it’s foundation stuff, which means you have to address it.
Disagreements about how towels are to be folded CAN be a marriage’s undoing. Or how the toilet paper is to be placed in the dispenser. Or how the bed is to be made.
I know this because the husband and I have already had Discussions about these issues. Except the toilet paper one—I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t agree that the roll should be installed with the edge overhand. Even the info architects at Clearwired have an article about the obvious superiority of overhand installation.
I mean, you can’t have it origamied if it’s hanging off the back end against the wall unless you have the origami at the top and then you’d have to tuck it through every time you needed to use it.
Oh! Maybe that’s what happened to Sheryl Crow! TOTALLY explains why she’s so hell-bent against using toilet paper!
Am I seriously talking about TOILET PAPER?! Ugh! I can’t stand myself right now!
“The facts of life are very grinding, so the reality of marriage is grinding,” says Natalie Low, Ph.D., a psychologist and Harvard instructor who counsels couples from fairy tale endings into the real world. “There is no obvious course to follow, so couples just have to keep working.”
Yes. WORKING.
“How is married life?” I repeated in reply to Simone. “Married life’s hard work. Like, worse than manual labor. Very weird manual labor.”
