Ways in which I am broken

Sometimes it’s hard to be married. Let me be clear. I love my husband. He’s pretty freaking great. He’s my favorite person to talk to. Or watch Scrubs with. Or wash dishes with. Of all the guys I’ve dated, I married the guy who made the best husband.

But that doesn’t mean that life is always peachy. It's just he doesn’t always let me have my way, see? And I don’t mean in a temper tantrum “I wanted the purple fork and not the orange fork” sort of way*. More like, “Yeah, I think I’d just rather not talk about money, thank you very much” sort of way.

I WANT to be grown up and mature. But I’m not. I’m sinful and broken and childish. And I have a thing with money. It’s not like I’m a crazy spender. I’m not. I spend more money on eating out for lunch than I should, but it’s not like I’m going to Chili’s everyday for lunch. (As if going to Chili’s were the ultimate extravagance.) Other than that, my spending is normal. When I need clothes, I buy them. I SOMETIMES get my nails done, or whatever. But it’s actually pretty normal. Nothing really worth avoiding. Except I do, as if my life depended on it.

Which is tough because married couples gotta talk about money. Which leaves poor Jeff always being the bad guy. He makes me talk about money, but then I have to tell him I didn’t move that money to savings like I said I was going to, and I feel like a terrible person because I didn’t do it, and now I can’t because I spent some of the money on eating out, and I’m a terrible person and a terrible wife and it’s time for me to cry now, thanks.

Husbands don't normally like to see their wives cry. Jeff is no exception. But, hey, it happens and everybody lives. And most of the time he's patient and loving (although he's sinful and broken, too. But that's another post.) And eventually the tears stop, and I mope around for a while, feeling the weight of all that's wrong with me, and then that gets a little better, too, and suddenly I'm ready to watch a little Earl on TV. And I laugh. And everybody lives.

Sometimes I think being single would be easier. But I never think it would be better.

*But only because all of our forks and utensils in general are black. Otherwise, that statement might not be true.