“My husband.” These are two very recent additions to my personal vocabulary. And oddly enough now, somewhat to my chagrin, I find myself actually liking the sound of it. Really liking the sound of it. I catch myself saying things like, “my husband" this and “my" husband that blah, blah, blah.
Prior to becoming a newlywed, I was always irked when I overheard other women saying “my husband” this or “my husband” that. The only thing I found more annoying was redundant name hyphenators. “Hi, I’m Mrs. Mary Smith-Johnson”.” Need I say more?
Somehow though, after the “I do” something unexpected happened to me. Understand that my husb, this is a man I have known for nearly 20 years. We dated for 10 years, lived together for four years. He’s the same man whom I am always asking to pick up his socks or take out the trash. He’s the man I wanted to marry, although not in the “hope chest- filling”, "white-gowned veiled girl invested in the pricey, accessory-laden idea of wedding day as the most perfect day in a life" way. I wanted a marriage, but not a “wedding” wedding.
Since I was the un-bride, I thought I could be the un-wife. My response to questions of “how’s married life?” has been nonchalant. I tell people the only difference is now I can say “Husband, pick up your socks.” Indeed, for the most part, life is the same, but there is something different. I like to accord him his new title. And when he says “my wife” it makes me smile inside. It’s a promotion of sorts. As "wife and husband", we now have new social positions even in this post modern society where marriage has been reduced to a personal contract rather than a vital part of the social fabric. Inside me there still lives a cynical, sarcastic, independent urban creature who cringes at the thought that by relishing being married, I have bought into staid middle class values. But inside me is a woman who is proud and happy to be "wife."
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