From time to time, I chide Sugar for not having much in the way of the gift of the gab. It’s unfair of me. After all, she’s Polish. Our ancestors may have had in common their unrelenting diet of cabbage and potatoes, but while my Irish forbears were spending their winters thinking of something suave to say to the girl next door (and starving), hers were busy staying out of the way of commuting armies (and starving).
But let it not be said that I withhold credit where it is due.
Last night, while I was performing my evening ablutions in the bathroom, Sugar made a remark from the other room to the effect that the wedding had been a stressful experience. (Stressful? Why, all of our parents were here to help! And we got to organize every little thing they did!)
“Excuse me,” I reminded her, “That was the HAPPIEST DAY OF YOUR LIFE.”
“No,” she replied, and I waited to pounce. “Being married to you is so much better.”
My wife: I think I’ll keep her.