As of today, I have been married 19 years. It seems like a deal. Especially if you add the word “happily” in there, which is after all, the goal, right? “I have been happily married for 19 years.” Wow.

I have never once, in all honestly, regretted it. No buyer’s remorse. That’s  amaaaaazing.  I’ve regretted every decision I’ve ever made. I regret spending money on shoes and sweaters that I never wear. I regret bringing home the one cat that was impervious to all attempts at litter box training. I regret not taking shop class in high school, despite my dad’s vehement attempts to make me, because, oh my god, the money I could have saved on this slangy shanty of a house. I don’t even want to talk about the white carpeting.

But marrying Kirk….? Best decision ever.

I hope he feels same, though there is daily evidence that he could have, in fact, done better. I’ve grown crankier and ever chubbier with the years, which he interprets as “funnier” and “more voluptuous.” A more responsible spouse would have him checked for dementia, but I know when I’ve got it good.

It’s lucky for me that he is so attracted to my inner beauty, because, let’s face it, the outer beauty is fading fast. Which I am fine with…mostly. I staunchly hold the belief that women are allowed to get old, goddammit. If you have any sort of problem with grey hair, saggy bellies or crows feet, just keep it to yourself or I will be forced to lecture you mightily on the inherent value of women while shaking my fist in the air.

Metaphorically, I mean. I gave up raising my arms above my head on my last birthday. Crows feet are one thing, but my “angel wings” (as we call the general underarm area) aren’t anything I feel like inflicting upon the unsuspecting. I will not even wave hello anymore. If I see you across a crowded room, you are getting a jaunty sailor salute or maybe two thumbs up, elbows held firmly at my side. Which is just the kind of thing Kirk doesn’t worry about at all, thank God.

So here’s to the next 19. If I am extraordinarily lucky, we will be just as contented then, as we are now. And if we are, I’m throwing one heck of a party. You’re all invited– just stop by and say, “Hello.”

SAY it to my face, I mean. Because it’s my party and I won’t be waving back to anyone.

The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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