Benedict Ambrose and I have been married for seven years today, and we are evidence that if you have a flash of really good luck--or get a sudden surprise blessing from God--marriage in haste does not lead to repenting at leisure.
As the years go on, I become less and less of an expert on the Single life and somewhat more knowledgeable (or pedantic) on the subject of Married life. Generally speaking, I learned how to be married from my parents, and B.A. learned how to be married from his grandparents, and the two philosophies of marriage are compatible. I am particularly grateful to B.A.'s grandfather for his doleful dictum, "Anything for a quiet life." B.A. is no doubt grateful to my mother's hatred for clothes shopping. Do lower-income wives really go out and spend their breadwinner husbands' money on expensive clothes for themselves? It doesn't seem likely, but footballers' wives do it, so it must happen. I would die of shame, but on the other hand, Footballer's Wife is a sort of job in itself, so perhaps Colleen and the gang can be excused. Me, I stick to charity shops, one of my favourite British institutions.
Happily, we never fight about money. (East-coast Scottish stingy ad East-coast Scottish stingy loquitur.) We do, however, fight about housework. I do not remember my parents ever fighting about housework, but then I don't remember my parents fighting about much. I recall that they fought at least twice in forty years, but other than that, I draw a blank. Maybe they were so blessed by the gift of children than we all brought them to a greater level of holiness. Perhaps when your lives are invaded by an army of children, you need to be at peace with the one adult ally in the house.
The secret to a happy marriage is telling your husband how brilliant he is as often as you can. Naturally this is easier and more convincing to the masculine ear if he actually is brilliant. Thus, it is a good idea to marry someone brilliant. Men don't change all that much, so start with brilliance and shine it up with your wifely praise.
Two weeks into the draconian two week no-sugar, low-calorie (800) Blood Sugar diet. I am not sure I am strictly keeping to 800 calories since the Low-Sugar Diet Cookbook came into my life. The Fruit and Nut bars (which I did, however, cut into 12 portions for calorie-watching) are just too good not to have with ye olde after-breakfast coffee. Then there were this week's Spelt Episodes. I made the recipe for Spelt Bread for guests and then ate some. Well, that was probably not so bad, but then on Saturday I made a spelt pizza and ate the whole thing. La la la. Portion control was out the window, but at least the glycogen load was low.
Despite these lapses into dietary sanity, I have discovered that I have lost either one or two sizes where shirts are concerned. Oh, and the dress I shall wear to our Anniversary Lunch fits much better. Anniversary Lunch will probably max out my calorie allowance for the day, but that's okay. I suspect that as long as I don't eat simple carbs or sugar, I am ahead.
There is, of course, the training-for-Chartres factor. Really, this was not an ideal time to go on a low-calorie diet. However, I am not lacking in energy except after 6 PM, and that can be blamed on my 6 AM risings. Benedict Ambrose forbade me to stick to the diet turning the actual Chartres Walk, which injunction I am obeying with full wifely submission as I am not actually crazy. My one assertion is that I will not eat simple carbs or sugar--except for a croissant when I wake up in a Chartres hotel on Whit Tuesday morning, of course, because....France.