OK, you know what? Fine. I don't care. {{Deep breath.}}
I'm going to write it. Now. I'm going to write it now.
Really.
OK: Kev and I went to a marriage retreat this weekend.
That kinda hurt. I mean, you do think I'm perfect, right? With the perfect kids and husband? Can I get an amen? Hello?
So anyway, yeah. We went. It was a long weekend. Lots of talking. Lots of writing. Lots of trying not to cry in front of the masses as Jacko (not his real name) admitted to cheating on Suzie (her real name). The set-up was this: three couples who had attended this program in the past presented talks recounting their experience with dead, loveless marriages. Also, a priest moderated the deal and shared his experience with being imperfect. Then, there were questions and writing and sharing privately and admitting you're a jackass and selfish and that your Dad made you impulsive and overly emotional and prone to telling the people you love that you hate them.
And while we're not perfect, thankfully we did not have to deal with infidelity or drug abuse or any of the other stuff I think some other people had to confront. No, our problem is we don't agree a lot. We can't help it: it's just that Kev is always wrong and he doesn't get it.
So, let me just tell you: I joke. But this program helped hugely (adverb alert). It's offered in cities across America. So if you're a jackass and have a spouse who is always wrong, write me for more info.*
*This program works best if you're the type of person who doesn't have a problem with people singing Bette Midler's "The Rose" en masse.