Liar Liar Pants On Fire
We’ve heard it since the beginning of thinking about maybe someday getting married. Pretty much all married people say it. You brace yourself for impact after you walk down the aisle because things are about to get rocky… right? “Your first year of marriage will be the hardest”.
I mean, maybe that’s the case. All I’m saying is that our first year of marriage was not even close to being the hardest year of our relationship. I mean, take year one: a 19 year old and a 21 year old. We weren’t even allowed to go to a concert at Toby Keith’s together, because Dylan was underage. Or year two: Two broke kids who had to drive an hour to ever see each other. Hanging out was on a schedule of Wednesdays and Saturdays, and we could afford fancy dinners at Old Chicago. Where we decided we were going to move out of state, and get engaged, and try to live together all at once. Or take year Three and Four: Dylan working about 60 hours per week, me struggling to find a place in the world in general and developing a helping of self-diagnosed mental health disorders. This all happening while we just didn’t get along, and were just all types of messy.
Brace for impact…
I was ready for marriage to suck… Considering that engagement wasn’t a barrel of fun times, I figured “just survive year one, and you’ll survive it all”. Then, we got married. We didn’t fight anymore like we used to, and when we fought it wasn’t serious. We moved twice in the first year of marriage, one of which completely uprooted our lives. Dylan got a new car, I got a new Ellie, and we got to live life together. My anxiety is still raging, my self-worth wavers with my reflection, and Dylan still works hard at what he does, but at least we’re in this together.
It’s almost like a wedding band is full of magic. Now, maybe the next month will be excruciatingly painful, but I doubt it. Considering we go through Christmas, and Dylan is currently channeling Will Ferrell in Elf, I think I’m safe to survive the next month of marriage.
Maybe we’re the lucky ones, or maybe marriage isn’t that bad after all. Happy cheesy, disgusting, I hate my self eleven months of marriage Dylan.
…One More Month