'Til death do us part. Really? Do we have to?

I have a friend whose husband lost his job about a month ago. It was a golden-parachute job loss, so nobody is a disaster over there…in fact, this guy now spends his day fixing things and doing yard work. Very, very happily.

This is the evolution of conversations with his peppy, optimistic wife:

Day 1: “It’s take-your-kids-to-work day. Boy, wouldn’t it have been funny if he did that on the day he got fired???” (Laugh laugh laugh laugh laugh.)

Day 5: “Yup, he’s doing a lot around the house. It’s great.” (Slightly forced smile.)

Day 10: “He’s still really busy, but always AROUND THE HOUSE. I kind of feel squeezed out of my normal routine.” (Yeah, getting edgy.)

Day 15: “I went on a really long run, just to be by myself. I couldn’t stop. I was gone for three hours. I can’t walk.” (Looking very pained.)

Day 18: “Know anybody looking for a CEO? I’ve got one. You can have him.” (Sort of a manic look in her eyes.)

Day 20: “Do you have any wine that’s already cold? I don’t want to wait for mine to chill.” (Pleading look.)

Day 25: “Vodka?” (Desperate look.)

And today…”Razor blade?” (Uh oh.)

Now, she’s funny. I don’t need to call a hotline.

But it made me realize the cycle.

We meet. We date. We fall in love. We are inseparable, because we will perish without each other.

We have kids. We have different lives. We compartmentalize each other.

Kids move away. We date again. Maybe.

We die. We are inseparable, because we did perish, and now we’re buried RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER.

Well, shit.