He's my husband now, so I guess it all worked out. Heh.
We were in our 40s then. He'll be 70 later this year. Time flies when you're having fun.
Of course it's not all fun. I pout and throw things and threaten to run away when life gets to be too much for me. His style is to retreat and grow silent. But those times are few and far between, and as the years have passed, they have grown fewer and farther.
Or at least I like to think so.
He still surprises me, and we're both pretty astonished – given our relationship histories – that we're still together 20 years later. The first couple years were touch-and-go. The third and fourth years we did the long-distance thing between Ohio and West Virginia. And then, we sealed the deal. I sold my house, quit my job and in 1997 moved to the Middle of Nowhere.
Because we are who we are, we didn't get married until 2006, but we lived happily in sin all those years.
He likes to eat and I like to cook, so that works out. We both like to read, but he prefers books and I'd rather use the Nook. He's learned to love walking and I've moved way left of the salad fork. (As both of you know!) Politics is now one of our common, shared interests. He'll never embrace technology and gadgets the way I do, and I'll never appreciate classical music the way he does.
We complement each other nicely, though. In the next 20 years, I'd like for him to learn to cook and he'd like for me to divest myself of some yarn. I've serious doubts about either of those things happening. But it's something to work toward.