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*Photo by Emik and Yana Nikora of iDrop Photo
The first big argument my husband Andrew and I had was whether or not to buy a complete set of pots and pans. We were newlyweds. I think we may have had three weeks under our belts. I wanted a “full set” of pots and pans. He said we didn’t need it. Overdramatics (mine) ensued.
In the idea of full disclosure I want to express just what sort of overdramatics I am talking about. To fully explain, I must break them into two subcategories:
a. Overdramatics expressed in front of Andrew:
b. Overdramatics expressed after Andrew left for work:
- Banging fists on the floor
- Screaming into a pillow
- Taking down two pictures he had up in the house that I didn’t like. (At the time it was a statement to help him understand what it’s like not to control the things in your environment. I can’t believe I am actually admitting this.)
At some point during "The Great Pot Incident of 2011"—which should probably be renamed to avoid confusion—I started thinking about my future. I imagined what Andrew’s and my life would be like in 50 years. I imagined myself with all of my pots. Maybe by then I’d have a pot rack. I could have at least two or three full sets even. My pots and I would be hanging out in a single bedroom condo, maybe with some cats, because really, what man is going to want to be with the pot lady? I kept thinking how mad "future me" would be if "current me" won the argument of pots and pans and lost my marriage.
Because this is the great fallacy of marriage: they say that finances, kids, work and other stresses are the relationships killers, and there is some truth to that—eventually. But the things that actually end marriages are whether you hang your towel up after you shower and whether or not you end up buying the full set of pots and pans.
Marriages aren’t lost in a moment; they are lost in a thousand little moments. If I won a thousand little arguments with Andrew about things I probably won’t remember or care about, and then lost my marriage, then ultimately I would lose. Big time. That’s when something Brad Bell once said came back at me hard. He had said:
“You can be right, or you can be one.”
I could win in a moment and take a step away from Andrew over something stupid or I could take one more step toward him and win the thing I want most, which is a killer marriage.
By the time Andrew got home, I had resolved that we didn’t need the pots and pans, and he had resolved that we should get them. We ended up buying the whole set, and I ended up returning the roasting pan because it was too heavy. It was a really nice moment between us, and then Andrew asked, “What happened to that horse picture that was over the mantle?”
Right or one?
*Photo by Emik and Yana Nikora of iDrop Photo