Not Peas and Carrots

Husband Early in Marriage. Hubba-hubba.

Forrest Gump and his Jenny may have gone together like peas and carrots, but Husband and I are, well, we're different.

Before we got married, he had kept a record of every single expense over $1 since he started working. I had not balanced my checkbook for a year.

I do the New York Times crossword puzzle in ink, but stare in puzzled befuddlement at the one-star Sudoku. He looks at a column of numbers a page long and the single error jumps out at him on a pogo stick.

I like musicals, he likes Westerns.

I am perfectly happy riding around in a car with the residue of the past two snowstorms on the floor mat. He has a whisk broom in the utility pocket of the door, and he uses it!

I'm a coffee fanatic, he gets through the day with Diet Pepsi.

In his ideal house all the walls are painted white and the furniture is parallel to the walls. My couch cuts an angle across the corner, and I dream of brick red kitchen walls.

Just hearing the theme song for SportsCenter makes me want to throw a brick at the television. He thinks The Real Housewives of New York City are stupid.

Really, we are so far from peas and carrots that we might as well be Brussels sprouts and corn, but somehow this thing we've had going for the past 27 years is working.

Happy birthday, Husband. I'm glad I'm your wife.