Yes, I know.

Marriage has benefits like committed love and companionship and someone greeting you with “Good Morning” as you wake up with your hair flying every-which-way and eyes half-open.

For now, though, I’m focusing on the major marriage problem called “compromise.”

He wants this. You want that.

No this! He says.

No that!  You say.

This! This!

No! That, that, that!

Finally you compromise and get what neither of you want.

I wanted to move to a charming seaside cottage in Mukilteo, Washington. Maybe live just a few steps from the Red Cup Cafe where you not only get delicious coffee served in white cups, but a view of Puget Sound and ferry boats.  I do not understand, by the way, why the Red Cup Cafe serves coffee in white ceramic mugs. I asked one of the servers about the cafe’s name and she explained the owner loves the color red. That explains it. The owner has all the red cups at home for herself, leaving only white cups for her customers. I’m off the topic. Sorry.

Jerry didn’t like any of the places we looked at in Mukilteo, mainly they were either poorly built or the garage was not the size of a football stadium. A garage that can fit fifty-thousand  people is a must for Jerry.

Jerry wanted to move to Oregon, either Albany or Molalla. He wanted a farm house with several acres so he could set up his own shooting range.  I did not want to live with the sound of gunfire and so I said I did not want to move to Oregon.

We compromised and moved to the desert in Arizona.

Accepting something less than what you want to make your spouse happy is very hard. I mean grueling hard. I think there ought to be awards for compromising married couples.

I wanted to take a trip to the United Kingdom. I envisioned myself sipping British tea inside castles and viewing English gardens. I would certainly skip across the London Bridge. Jerry wanted to go to Florida and visit Disney World.

So we compromised and took a trip to the Mediterranean. But wait. Jerry and I did visit Disney World before embarking on our voyage to the Mediterranean. This did not become a compromise. This became another factor of marriage called “giving-in.”

Giving-in means you want to see a chick flick and he wants to see a blood-and-guts action movie …ok, I don’t give in and Jerry and I stay home. But you get the idea.

I wanted a Volkswagen Beetle convertible and Jerry wanted…oh yeah, that wasn’t a compromise. Jerry said, “Get what you want.”

“Really, Jerry? You’re not going to tell me something like the engineering is poor quality or you wouldn’t be caught dead in it?”

“Go ahead,” he said.

I got what I wanted. No compromise. Oh yes, there was one teeny compromise. For the VW in Salsa Red, I would have to pay several thousand more and wait. Or, I could have the Reflex Silver right away and at less money. I have the silver now. I don’t put the top down here in the desert because the sun would sizzle my skin like bacon frying on a hot griddle.

There you have marriage in a nutshell. Mostly you compromise, sometimes you give in, and once in awhile your spouse will say “Go ahead, get what you want.”

You don’t think of compromise on your wedding day, or even on your honeymoon. You think only of the wedding cake and hope your husband won’t smash it in your face. Oh, that’s right. We didn’t have a wedding cake. Less wedding costs helped us save money for the honeymoon in Hawaii where problems of compromise didn’t seem possible.

the end