An elevator ride that's lasted eight years

My wife and I just celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary and let me tell you, I haven't been this happy since my dentist announced his retirement. We made it past seven years! Our marriage didn't fall victim to the dreaded seven-year itch, which has broken up more relationships than Jack Daniel's and Johnnie Walker combined. (Trust me, it's not a good idea to combine them.)

Some of you, I know, have been married for more than 50 years and are obviously unimpressed. If you're a man, you're probably saying to yourself, "Eight years is no big deal. I've been married so long, I've spent a total of eight years just waiting for my wife to get out of the bathroom." If you're a woman, you're probably saying to yourself, "Eight years! That's how long it took my husband to figure out the hooks on my bra."

Well, here's a confession: I'm still trying to figure out a lot of things. For example:

1. When a woman looks at her wardrobe and complains that she has "nothing at all to wear," does she really expect her husband to be concerned about the prospect of her wearing nothing at all?

2. When a woman talks to you during a football game, is it better to just nod your head and pretend you're listening or say something polite such as, "I don't mind if you talk during the game, dear, but please don't expect me to take the cotton balls out of my ears."

3. In which of these situations is it reasonable to say 'no' to a woman? (a) When she asks you to go to a department store to pick up a feminine hygiene product; (b) when she enters a fitting room in a department store and asks you to hold her handbag; or (c) when she enters a fitting room and asks you to pick up a feminine hygiene product while holding her handbag.

Perhaps the biggest thing I'm trying to figure out is how Malathi and I survived eight years. Marriage isn't easy -- at least not for us. Sure, we've had lots of happy moments, but we've also had moments when we wondered if it was better to just divide the children and go our separate ways. And we might have done it too, if one of our three children had agreed to be split in half.

Yes, we've certainly had our ups and downs. Our marriage has been a heart-thumping elevator ride in a skyscraper, with some idiot constantly pushing the button for the basement. I'm pretty sure I know who the idiot is: a British nobleman named Sir Cumstance. Or is it that young lady named Miss Communicate?

A perfect marriage requires perfect partners. I certainly haven't been a perfect husband and I'm sure Malathi would also say, without hesitation, that she hasn't been with the perfect guy.

Well, I'm sure she'd admit to a few mistakes herself. We've both made mistakes and we've both, hopefully, learned from them. I've learned that it's usually a good idea to forgive and forget. Forgiving isn't always easy, but the older you get, the more you can count on forgetting.

I'm so forgetful, I don't even remember why I was upset at Malathi yesterday. I think she complained about my sleeping habits. Or was it my sweeping habits?

Frankly, I don't have time to figure it out. There's a football game coming on and before it starts, I need to rush to the store to buy some feminine hygiene products. And some cotton balls, of course.

Walking to the White House with the senior vote

It's a Friday evening and the cafeteria at Bethel County Retirement Home in Alaska is noisier than usual, as residents discuss the big news of the day. The two ladies seated in the corner, who often spend meal times grumbling about the lumpy gravy or unmashed potatoes, find themselves drawn into the excitement.

"Did you hear the news?"

"Of course I heard the news, Esther. I'm old, but I'm not deaf. I still can't believe it. Our governor, heading to the White House."

"Not the White House, Mildred. The other house. I dunno what it's called, but I'm sure it's big. Dick Cheney lives there, you know."

"Dick who?"

"Cheney. You know, the guy who shot his friend while hunting."

"Oh, that fella. Is Sarah Palin going to be safe, moving in with him?"

"She's not moving in with him. He's going to move out first."

"Oh, that's a relief. I was starting to wonder whether it was worth it for her to be president."

"Vice-president, Mildred. The only way she'd become president is if John McCain ... you know ... croaks."

"John who?"

"McCain. You know, the guy who's old enough to move here with us."

"Oh, that fella. Why does Palin have to wait for him to die?"

"She's not waiting for him to die. He's the Republican Party's presidential nominee. He chose Palin to be his running mate."

"They're running together? You've got to be kidding me. Does that old man really run?"

"Well, I've never actually seen him run. He's always walking."

"So he chose Palin to be his walking mate?"

"I suppose you could say that. They're walking mates, like you and I."

"Do they walk to the Bingo Hall?"

"No, they walk against the Democrats: Obama and Biden."

"Obama? Who's he?"

"He's the tall black guy who's always on TV but doesn't play basketball."

"Oh, that fella. He's kinda cute. Are you sure he doesn't play basketball?"

"I'm pretty sure. But as my grandson likes to say, the man's got game."

"Whaddya mean? Does he play bridge like us?"

"No, he knows how to campaign. He's already going after the senior citizen vote. I heard he visited a retirement home in Kansas and told 'em he won't tax bingo winnings."

"I'm starting to like him already. That's the best proposal I've ever heard."

"Yeah, and that's not the half of it. He also says he'll offer us a government-funded replacement plan, in case we want to replace our teeth, our hips or even our hair."

"I'd like to replace my daughter-in-law."

"Well, he's probably got a plan for that too. But here's the best part: he says that if he's elected president, he'll make it legal for everyone to drive with their turn signals on at all times."

"That's wonderful. So are you going to vote for him, Esther?"

"I'm not sure. I kinda like McCain. He picked our governor and he knows what it's like to be old. On the other hand, Obama picked a senior citizen, Joseph Biden, as his running mate."

"Does Biden do any actual running?"

"Well, he's like most politicians. He's always running his mouth."

"That's good exercise, Esther. I heard that talking burns one calorie per minute. That's why I'm always talking to myself."

"Biden does that too. He always tries to finish his speeches, even if everyone has left."

"I like to finish what I've started too, except, of course, this lumpy gravy. It's horrible. Sometimes I wish I could go back to the '30s and '40s. Everything was made so well back then."

"So true. That's why I'm leaning toward McCain. He's from our generation and he's determined to win the War on Tourism."

"War on Tourism? What's that?"

"Well, he's going to stop all those tourists from Mexico."

"What about Obama?"

"He's not from Mexico. I think he's from Kenya."

"No, I mean, is he going to win the War on Tourism too?"

"Well, you'll like this, Mildred. I heard him say that he'll not only win the War on Tourism, he'll also win the War on Lumpy Gravy."

"That settles it then. I know who I'm voting for. One candidate is head and shoulders above the other."

"Who's that?"

"John Obama, of course. Who else?"