Wow, I thought couples therapy was reserved for the likes of the Lockhorns and The King of Queens. Now the young men and women picking out china patterns are in danger of breaking said china over each other's heads before they've even used it for dinner? That's just insane.
What could suck more than the promise of "till death do us part" biting the dust about 60 years too early?
When I look back to seven years ago ‑- the year my wife and I were engaged ‑- I try to think of the problems she and I encountered. I think they amounted, in total, to me thinking the couch she bought for our apartment was Fugly ‑- yes, that's with a capital F. Sure there were guest list squabbles, money anxieties, wedding details to fret over ‑- but mostly it was like, "Cool! All that fun dating and eating late brunches and lounging around in Central Park has helped us decide to spend the rest of our days together. We'll figure it out as we go!" We were like most young couples ‑- stupid and in love. But our foundation was superstrong. It was a foundation made stronger with each hug, each tear, each serving of grilled swordfish with mango salsa. (Honey, please make that again soon.) We knew we both wanted the same thing ‑- to one day sit on that old-couple throne. That is, we were ‑- and still are ‑- looking forward to when we're old and gray and can reflect back on all the great moments of our marriage that have brought us to that point. Hopefully those moments will include a bunch of great pictures taken at a ton of happy events, grandchildren, a beach house and who knows what else.
I think the thing with therapy ‑- and even with some relationships not in therapy ‑- is that endless analysis sometimes generates more questions than answers. Sure, it may help a marriage-to-be become better than it otherwise would have been, but the best relationships don't need sessions on a couch to ensure that "happily ever after" awaits in the coming years. Some of the best therapy for our marriage these days takes place on our own couch ‑- the one that replaced that god-awful floral monstrosity my wife brought home in 1998.
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