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For the last twenty or so years, over half the couples I see contain the "nice guy" with his frustrated wife.
Yom Kippur, the Jewish holiday of repentance, had barely been over for 14 hours and I was already fighting with my husband. Over our poached kale and egg salads with a side of chickpeas I notice my firecracker friend is uncharacteristically glum.
Has my Teflon-coated mind not retained a single shred of serenity? When Peter died, the only thing that kept me sane was writing about grief. I recognized that by spewing out my emotions with honesty, I was helping others which meant it was work that made me satisfied.
My husband and I have been together for over 20 years. We met in high school and watched each other graduate high school, college, and graduate school, find (and change) careers, and become parents.
We watched each other become adults and now we are watching each other age. I meet my friend Geraldine at a hip, local eatery in the heart of Abbot Kinney in Venice Beach.