There’s a commercial that runs rampant in my neck of the
woods for a store called Kay Jewelers.
It’s a picturesque scene – husband and wife are staring into each
other’s eyes over some filet mignon and chocolate mousse. Hubby is all shiny in his pressed white shirt
under his suit, and the wife is all decked out in her basic black dress that
hugs and forgives in all the right places.
Their table is adorned with a simple rose in a vase as the scene behind
them glistens in ambient light. Then,
from across the table the husband stretches out his arm and un-cups his hand to
reveal a small, velvet box and hands it across to his wife. He is smiling as if he’s courtside at an NBA
game with hot wings in his lap rather than parked at a pricey restaurant with
$20 wedge salads. His wife responds by
arching her eyebrows in gross anticipation, then gently takes the box and flips
open the top only to reveal some emblem of diamonds. Either shaped in a heart to signify their
undying love, or perhaps in a circular round symbolic of a never-ending
commitment to one another, the woman conveys her approval with a knowing
look. He nods proudly at his own
move then smiles to himself as if to say, “I am so getting action later.” Finally, in culmination of this perfect
moment they lean across the small table to share a kiss, and then the
commercial jingle pipes in, “Every kiss begins with ‘Kay’.”
It makes me want to strangle a puppy.
And then it makes me want diamonds for my anniversary. Which is today.
Twenty years, baby. Or
as Rent would say, ten million
five-hundred twelve thousand minutes. It’s
been two whole decades since my sister did my hair, I gave myself a manicure
with a polish I think they now label, “Grandma’s Powder Room”, and San Diego ordered a
downpour that forced our garden reception indoors. Twenty years is kind of a long time and I
dare say I have learned a lot.
I learned that I share an anniversary with Mariah Carey and
her ex-husband, Tommy Mottola. I learned
that getting married to further your career is a recipe for a divorce. I learned that I am better at marriage than
Mariah Carey.
I have learned that New Year’s Eve will always be overrated,
and that kissing under bright lights and mayhem at midnight is just as good as
kissing under a fluorescent light in the kitchen at 9pm when you’re kissing the
right person.
I have learned that not all husbands cry like babies when
they see their babies being born.
Sometimes they hold your hand while watching the Masters and rooting for
Phil Mickelson, but it’s ok. Because 16
years later he’s going to take that baby out on a daddy/daughter date and make
her feel like a million bucks and she won’t remember that he didn’t cry when
she was born.
I’ve learned that jumping off waterfalls, exploring Israel,
zip-lining through a grove of aspens and swimming with dolphins can be a lot of
fun with your eternal partner. And I’ve
also learned that even though it’s fun it has nothing to do with love.
No, love is when I was overweight for 10 years and he never
EVER mentioned it. Love is when I broke
down crying in the bathroom, overwhelmed at the thought of being a first time
parent and he held me and promised me we would figure it out together. Love is getting in the bed first to warm up
my side while I’m taking off my makeup.
Trumping all, I would say that Cory’s greatest gift to me in twenty
years of marriage has been loving me when I’m not being lovable. He’s really brave.
The truth about life, and in this case the truth about married life, is that the perfect
moments are usually messy. For me, they
haven’t been born in bistros over wine and diamonds. He’s not wearing a tux, I’m not wearing a
satin gown, and we’re not standing on top of the Eiffel Tower
renewing our vows. We’re usually at
home. He’s trying to figure out what’s
wrong with the sprinklers, I’m trying to figure out how many chocolate chips I
can fit in my mouth. We’re often dealing
with homework – he sits patiently aside a child and helps with math. I make cookies while they study for Finals
and teach them about the dangers of emotional eating. We’re a team!
The truth is, not all kisses begin with Kay. And even if they did, I’m confident that it
wouldn’t be as satisfying as the commercial makes it seem. Someday they will make a commercial where the
wife is sitting on the couch and her husband comes downstairs wearing a fedora
and a skull shirt and asks, “What do you think?” Their 17-year-old daughter scoffs and says, “Wow. I can’t un-see that.” We’ll laugh as the husband retorts, “I kinda
like it. I’m wearing it anyway.” His wife then takes him to a graduation party
and jokes about her new boyfriend, Bruno Mars.
I’m not sure what the commercial would be for exactly, but my family
would be the stars. In the meantime, forget
the diamonds.
Just give me 20 more years.
