Marriage: 20th Anniversary Edition!

The most astonishing thing has happened!! I was just minding my own business and then suddenly I blinked and guess what??!!

20 years just whizzed past in a nano-second! Unbelievable! 

Apparently Mickey Blue Eyes and I will have been married for a monumental 20 years on this coming Wednesday, the 11th of November, 2015! I could make the usual jokes about how you don't get that long for murder, but that would seem to imply that marriage is some sort of punishment to be endured. Pffffffft. As if. 

I must confess I couldn't even tell you why we've lasted this long. OK, maybe I have an inkling. 

A few months ago we were having a conversation about marriage and divorce, which had us arriving at this conclusion: the only reason ours has survived for 20 years is because neither of us could be bothered with the hassle and rigmarole of going through with divorce proceedings.

We do have arguments and annoy each other, just like every other couple. At the time you are completely outraged and wish to storm out of the house in high dudgeon and haughtily declare that you're never returning. Then, in the next beat you realise it's almost dinner time and something good might be on the telly after that, and really it's rather a lot of effort to pack and exactly where are you going to go anyway? Um. Yeah. Better rethink that. 

Long live romance! 

Anyway, seeing as though I'm now an expert on this subject here is some random advice and thoughts about marriage: 

• Wedding days are just that - a day. Yes, it's a special day, but I firmly believe you can still make it special without spending eleven billionty dollars on a cream puff frock and horse-drawn carriages and doves and all that nonsense. 

It's amazing. We look EXACTLY the same!
Except for the older and fatter thing. Details.

• There's no rush. Live together first. 

• When you are married there is really a frightful amount of a) talking, and b) togetherness. Who would have thought that a schmaltzy Carpenters song got it right? You know, that lyric about 'talking it over, just the two of us - togetherrrrr, togetherrrr?! Okay, you probably don't know, you're not groovy like me.  Check it out below. Anyway, if you're like me and not that great at talking and require alone time the way you require, you know, oxygen, then this will be a challenge. Not a totally impossible one, but a rather significant one. 

• There will be good and bad days. On a bad day I wish I could pack a bag and leave in a huff (see above). On a good day my family are like my coat of armour against the World. *passes over sick bags* 

• Those relationships that seem to be too good to be true probably are. 

• Don't post any of your arguments and drama on Facebook.  

• Remember the old line from the movie Love Story? 'Love means never having to say you're sorry'. Horse shit. If you know you've been a dick, an apology wouldn't go amiss. 

• If your husband isn't one to make grandiose romantic gestures, like sending flowers or writing gushing Facebook posts about you being the love of his life, but instead does the laundry, washes dishes, is a fantastic Dad to your kids, puts up with you being forgetful, disorganised, silent and uncommunicative (see above) and having a raging, totally perplexing Carpenters obsession, then there's a pretty good chance he does love you after all. 

• Likewise, if you're not one to make grandiose romantic gestures, or even say much at all, but instead support your husband's decision to work from home, despite your intense need for quiet time being disrupted, and put up with him being stubborn (yet somehow bizarrely oblivious of this fact), disorganised, and having a raging obsession with shares, soccer and birds (the feathered variety), then there's a pretty good chance that you do love him after all. *hands over more sick bags* 

• One day you will innocently blink your eyes and 20 years will have passed just like that! 

• Don't sweat the small stuff. We have a saying around here: Let it go over your head. No point in getting worked up about him leaving the toilet seat up. Especially if you have even worse habits. Or is that  just me? Ahem. 

• Make it clear early in the peace that you do not share your partner's enthusiasm for soccer, Star Trek or any other riveting obsession. Otherwise you will spend many hours being bored shitless and shivering at football fields on the weekend. Likewise, he isn't going to be enamoured of your fascination with shoe shopping or scrapbooking. Leave each other to it.

• When you are young and wishing to meet a potential partner you are certain that having common interests is essential. It's actually not. See above. Especially if you have, shall we say, some rather offbeat interests. I mean, let's face it, if I'd waited to meet a bloke who shared my Karen Carpenter fascination, I'd be permanently single. 

• Valentine's Day is a load of commercialised bullocks. There's no point in some one making a big fuss on a certain day and sending over-priced flowers then treating you like crap for the rest of the year. It sounds like a cliche, but it truly is the little everyday things that count. 

• If you were married in the 70s, 80s or even the 90s like me, your frock may now be hideous and dated. Not mine. Mine is exquisite and timeless. Because I've always had exquisite taste and didn't wear a cream puff frock. And clearly Kate Middleton totally copied me with her gown. So ner!

And that about wraps up my wisdom and insight* about marriage.

Happy 20th anniversary, Mickey Blue Eyes! 

*I have no wisdom or insight about anything ever. I just pretend I do. Works for me. 

Linking up with Kirsty and Alicia. 

What are your thoughts about marriage? 

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My Thoughts On The Melbourne Cup.

Here's something I prepared earlier for this week's Life This Week link up. Enjoy!   

Howdy folks!  Well, here we are on yet another Monday. And not just any Monday. Yep, you guessed it. It's that time of year again. The time when the entire nation pauses (and apparently goes stark, raving bonkers) over a horse race. I simply don't understand this. 

For those who are unaware of what I'm talking about, Melbourne Cup Day is Australia's most well-known and popular horse-racing event. Completely rational human beings, (who otherwise couldn't care less about such things) suddenly find themselves wearing odd hats and participating in office sweeps. Such is the absurdity of it all, that it has become known as 'the race that stops the nation'.  At around approximately 3 pm on the first Tuesday of every November, the nation holds it's collective breath while this takes place 

Image credit:http://www.racingandsports.com.au/melbournecup/2015-melbourne-cup-page-funstuff

My thoughts about this phenomenon were aptly summed up by Mr 14 the other evening.

"I couldn't give two shits about the Melbourne Cup!" he stated. 

WORD.

Yes, he swore. Which may seem frightfully rude for the more prudish among you (considering his tender age) , but in reality I couldn't agree more with the sentiment. Besides, where do you think he learned such colourful language? His father, of course. Not me. Nope. No way.

Anyway, as I was saying, I totally agree. Plus, in recent years I seem to recall hearing reports of more than one horse dying immediately after the race.  I don't recall specific details, but it all seems a tad nuts if you ask me. 

If that isn't outrageous enough, the event marks a public holiday in the state of Victoria, but it's off to work for all other states. How rude. The fact that I don't have a job is COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT.

In some ways it's a shame that I don't celebrate this dubious occasion. I mean, I would look quite fetching in a stupid hat. And it's a good excuse for a drink or two and a feed. Oh who am I kidding? I don't really need any excuses for those things. Details.

My only fleeting interest in horses began and ended with a brief period of reading 'Jill' books when I was a child. They were written by some one named Ruby Ferguson. 

And oh I say! They were a jolly good read. They revolved around a young horse-obsessed girl named Jill. (Thanks very much, Captain Obvious). She lived in the quaint English country town of Chatton with Mummy (as she still called her mother, despite being well into her teens). Jill went on to acquire her own horses and compete in Gymkhanas. Jill said things like 'do buck up' and 'smashing' and 'Mummy didn't have a carrot to spare!'. 

These books had titles like:

Two Ponies For Jill

Jill Enjoys Her Ponies

Jill's Riding Club

They were perfectly sweet and innocent. I don't know what YOU were thinking. This has absolutely nothing to do with the Melbourne Cup, really. It's just that my mind wanders from one pointless topic or anecdote to the next... 

And what on Earth was I talking about? 

Oh yes. Jill books. I did love those books. That's why it's frightfully horrid to think of Black Boy and Rapide (Jill's horses) being whipped into shape for our entertainment. Apparently in later editions the name 'Black Boy' was changed to the more politically correct 'Best Boy'.

But getting back to the Melbourne Cup. The other thing I don't get is the gambling mentality. I don't even take out lottery tickets. Occasionally I joined in those office sweep things many years (decades) ago when I was working outside the home. But it was honestly just to be polite. My parents would also have a bit of a bet. It was the only day of the year they did. They were otherwise uninterested in horse-racing. It was just a bit of 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' fun for them. They would ask me to pick out a horse and I'd pick the name I liked the best.

Which brings me to another point. Why do the horses always have such odd names? 

I just Googled the list of horses for 2015 purely for this post and one of them is called Beaten Up. Gulp. Not literally, I hope. 

Yet another horse has this interesting title: Gust Of Wind. I assume that's a reference to the horse's speed not it's flatulence, but I couldn't be sure.

So there you have it. In summary: I won't be celebrating the Melbourne Cup tomorrow. Instead, you can find me celebrating the fact that I don't give a shit about it. 

I might revisit my childhood by rereading those Jill books again, though. 

Shut up. They were smashing! 

Linking up with Kirsty, Alicia and Eva.

Do you celebrate the Melbourne Cup? 

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