THE PRESERVATION OF BUNNIES AND RAINBOWS

The other night my hubby said, "My wife is my girlfriend." Normally, wife and girlfriend don't mix if they're two different people. But since I choose to believe that I am one and the same, I found his comment to be very sweet indeed. Now, I don't claim to be knowledgeable or wise in the way of marriagehood, but I have learned a few things from my insightful mother-in-law by observation. One of which is to always put forth effort to make one's wifely self a constant source of interest, a mysterious and lovely specimen, by way of reinvention or preservation- but only towards your husband, ladies. Whether its pursuing music, beauty, intellect, health or physical fitness, I do so in a way that engages the hubby to rediscover (or newly discover) what it is he finds so attractive about me, and I continue to put forth effort into the very things I know he enjoys and finds appealing about me as well.

But no! For shame! I protest! Why should a wife have to cater to the hubby? Am I anti-feminist? Old school? Nay, I say! My very innards cringe at the thought of all things submissive! But for love, and the wisdom of the happily married in-laws, I shall be humbled.

I recall fondly the yester-years of girlfriend & boyfriend obsessions- when one stayed up all night and fell asleep to the voice on the other end of the phone; of every moment spent living and breathing to be with the one person so madly loved. Though that sort of excitement and drunken stupor of love may pass with time and gently sagging body parts, who is to say that it can't stay put for a little bit longer? (I'm speaking of love, not of plastic surgery). I refuse to go stagnant into the daunting middle-aged years! I hope to persist in my efforts to be an ever evolving and exciting partner for my husband- even after my teeth fall out and i've resorted to extra absorbent adult briefs.

Start your kegel exercises- today!

So while other elderly couples are sitting in their chairs on the front porch napping, I will be prancing around with my walker to the beat of Girl's Generation's GEE in an effort to remind hubby of our once youthful vigor.


For hubby and I, it's a matter of finding and keeping the laughs, the fun, the excitement, the deep conversations, the romance, the joy, the love in each other CONTINUOUSLY. Marriage and love don't promise a perpetual influx of bunnies and rainbows. I imagine that when I stop trying, those happy little bunnies of love and all things nice get butchered slowly and painfully with blood and guts and dying cries of agony in an isolated forest somewhere. Isolated- because I tend not to notice the sorry state of our relationship until it's short one too many happy bunnies. That's when I will spontaneously combust into a ball of angry unhappiness if hubby so much as BREATHES, and stay as such until we both realize the reason is because we've stopped trying.

Bunnies under attack

So in an effort to convince you not to destroy your marriages by lack of effort, I present to you: pictures of cute animals. Don't butcher them, please. Keep the love.

Peek-a-boo!

Sorry, that last one kind of slipped by me.