Dear Best Friend:
It’s pretty fitting to write this letter to you, since in ten days, we’ll have been married for two years.
I’m not a very easy person to live with.
I’m not sure how that happened– but I turned out to be one of those people who needs a lot of space and a lot of down time. That’s how I recharge my batteries. I also want things my way. I have a lot of rules bouncing around in my head, and I feel– inexplicably– that everyone else should know those rules without me having to spell them out for everyone. Before I moved in with you about five years ago, I had burned through half a dozen roommates.
And then that first year that we moved in together, I put you through total hell. I threatened to move out all the time– so often even I started to realize that a threat is no longer a threat when the person you’re threatening knows you aren’t going to follow through– and yet. You always took me seriously. You always listened, and you always made it better.
Then we got married. And let me tell you– marriage is not at all how Disney heavily implied it would be. There’s a whole lot of ‘after’ in the ‘happily ever after’ thing. And in that ‘after’ part, there’s a lot of living. A lot of clogged toilets and farting in bed and little white lies that get found out. Lots of awkward situations while you’re learning to live with someone, lots of barriers that come tumbling down when you realize that they’re going to be around for another fifty years, they may as well see that thing that you’ve never showed anyone.
And there’s a lot of fighting involved. I really only had one or two serious relationships before we got together, and I’ll tell you what– there were not fights like this. Sometimes, I say things that are so terrible that as soon as they leave my mouth I hope you know that I know they aren’t true, that I’m just saying them because I’m angry and scared. And you have never– never even once, ever– attacked me back. You’ve never raised your voice to me. You’ve never threatened to leave– you’ve never even threatened to sleep on the couch.
And sometimes, I say things that are so terrible because they are sooo true. When that happens, I always cringe on the inside and wait for everything to unravel. We live in a time when 75% of marriages fail– I figure, it has to start somewhere. At some point, someone must say something and the other person must realize… well, that’s it. We’re done. But no matter what we’ve ever been faced with, you always roll up your sleeves and ask me what we do next. Or sometimes– my favorite times– you come home with Chinese food and we put the baby to bed and watch the Daily Show in bed and laugh at Glenn Beck, and then things don’t seem so insurmountable. The next day, we hammer out a plan.
I had always wanted to marry my best friend. I’m so lucky that its you.