Frog Kissing

A dear friend and co-worker just married, which always makes one think, doesn't it? About marriage? About what you thought it was before you did it, and what it turns out to be?

There are days, I admit, when it's a good thing I took a vow to stay. Because somedays it takes a vow to keep you going. But after 12 years I've learned to wait it out, because we hit pockets of good -- really good -- when I'm bowled over by how great he is and how lucky I am.

I think it helps that I waited. I married at 33, didn't meet him until 30. And though sometimes we look at each other half in accusation and say "Where were you when I was looking for you?" the subtext being, "did you have to wait to find me until I was this tired?" (It does seem that people who marry young get a few more carefree years, or at least a good head start.) I also realize that I just wasn't ready to appreciate normal.

I had to date exotic, (ah yes, I recall my mother's frantic plea, "well, is your new boyfriend at least American?"), had to try on hyper-athletic, frustrated-artistic, funny-but-too-cutting, solicitous-to-the-point-of-creepy-and-controlling, and lots and lots of just 'enh. Next!'

It took all the weird extremes to make me appreciate normal. Steady, honest, salt-of-the-earth. As tolerant of my flaws as I am of his.

Which means, in the end, it's not that you kiss a lot of frogs until you find the handsome prince. If you're lucky, you kiss a lot of frogs until you find a frog you don't mind kissing.