“Milady, your coach awaits.” Sandi released my arm, and I opened her car door, waiting for her to enter. We’d stopped at a convenience store for a snack on our way home and, purchases complete, stepped outside into the balmy evening, strolling to our car.
“Thank you, sir.” She gave me a kiss, lingering, but far from steamy.
“How long have you two been married?” A youngish man, probably in his mid-to-late 20s, on the other side of the nearly-deserted parking lot looked at us with curiosity in his eyes. Apparently he’d caught us in mid-smooch.
Sandi and I spoke in unison: “Not long enough.”
He leaned against his car and laughed. “No, really. How long?”
“Twenty-six years.”
“No kidding?”
“And five months.” I did a quick calculation. “Almost.”
“My wife and I aren’t like that. You’re behaving like newlyweds, both of you. How do you do it?”
I glanced at Sandi and smiled. “It isn’t difficult. Remember when you were first dating?”
“Yeah.”
“All you have to do now is what you were doing then. You opened her car door, then. Why’d you stop?”
The young man shrugged.
“If she’s important enough for you to open her door before you married, isn’t she worth that now?”
“That’s only part of it,” Sandi said. “You know how popular it is to talk trash about your spouse? The kristinaold ball and chain,’ kristinamy old lady’ or even kristinamy old man.’ Don’t do it. If you only say positive things about her, you’ll think of her that way, too.” She wrapped an arm around my waist. “The rewards are worth it.”
This young man whom we’d never seen before looked at both of us. “You guys are incredible.”
“Nah, but I’m surprised more people don’t behave this way. It’s not rocket science.”
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.