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Motionless In White to sign copies of latest CD in Wilkes-Barre Township

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Happy birthday Lindzay Ann Dziak!

<p>Nancy and I just celebrated our 30th anniversary this past week.</p><p>Let me rephrase that: Nancy celebrated himself this past week. Because, although I thought making it to year 30 &#8212; without him having any visible, physical damage that can be proven in a court of law &#8212; was an enormous accomplishment, he did not.</p><p>Just another day in the neighborhood.</p><p>Boob.</p><p>The last time we had a vacation of any sort, we were celebrating our 20th anniversary. Now, I don&#8217;t understand core math, but even I know that&#8217;s 10 years and several glycolic peels ago.</p><p>Ten. Years.</p><p>It has been 10 years since we had a vacation! I thought that for this milestone anniversary, he may have surprised me with a trip. A little getaway. Well. He surprised me all right.</p><p>I just don&#8217;t understand how, after about 100 years of total togetherness, he does not understand the concept of death wish. As I was perusing the internet to come up with a cost effective, yet highly enjoyable anniversary trip &#8212; perhaps just for a weekend &#8212; he walked into the room and announced, &#8220;The boys and I are going away for our annual golf weekend this Friday!&#8221;</p><p>And he smiled.</p><p><em>He smiled</em>!</p><p>&#8220;But &#8230; <em>but</em> &#8230; it&#8217;s our 30th anniversary!&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;Are you sure? Already? Wow. Huh &#8230;&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;So you won&#8217;t go?&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;Oh, no. I&#8217;m going. We can celebrate when I get home &#8230;&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll be lucky if all your underwear and old-man generic jeans aren&#8217;t in a bonfire on the front porch when you get home, you buffoon.&#8221;</p><p>He laughed and laughed, rubbed his hands together excitedly, and went to polish his clubs. Who the hell polishes clubs? And why? They&#8217;re only going to be used in a police line-up when they find his body later in the week.</p><p>Well, he went away for his golf weekend, and I celebrated myself with a mediocre pedicure, a few pairs of shoes and a really fascinating trip to Joann Fabrics. No one lives the high life quite like Maria.</p><p>When I came down to breakfast on our actual anniversary, two days later, I rolled my eyes as I spotted the card that is always at my place at the table for each of the last 30 years. It says HAPPY 50th ANNIVERSARY, and on the inside, he wrote, &#8220;This should hold me over for a while.&#8221;</p><p>It was cute 29 years ago.</p><p>It&#8217;s no longer cute.</p><p>I flung it to the side and simmered. He giggled. Did I marry a man or Howdy Doody? A hybrid of both, I think.</p><p>You and I both know what marriage is all about. It&#8217;s about screaming to each other from several floors away and when we don&#8217;t understand the answer, just deciding it&#8217;s &#8220;yes, dear&#8221;.</p><p>It&#8217;s about deciding that you still like each other 80 percent of the time, and the other 20 percent, you can barely tolerate him because he couldn&#8217;t even buy you a fresh anniversary card.</p><p>I would say it&#8217;s all about respect and compromise, but that&#8217;s just a lot of crapola. If it were about compromise, you can bet your golf weekend that I&#8217;d be in Cancun right now and not returning all the ugly shoes I bought for my own anniversary gift.</p><p>Marriage is fun. Like pulling-out-nose-hairs fun. Sometimes we laugh; sometimes we cry; and sometimes we start bonfires on our porch. He needs to sleep with one eye open this week.</p><p>Ain&#8217;t love grand?</p><style>
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<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck</p><p>Life Deconstructed</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck, of West Pittston, is a mother of three and a business owner who lives to dissect the minutiae of life. Send Maria an email at mariajh40@msn.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Life Deconstructed: Don’t be surprised if you see a bonfire on the porch