And I’m still not sure why.
Divorce, that is.
It’s been more than TWO YEARS since Mr. Mufasa *moved* out, and still I lack the courage, will, and hopelessness to file. Sure, things were off and on for bit of time after the initial split, but I think deep down, we both know it’s over.
Yet here we are, two kids and three continents later, still married. I really can’t say why.
Maybe it’s because I love being married. Yes, ME, the girl who was so down on every aspect of marriage: the monogamy, the hypocrisy of recent legislation (see Defense of Marriage Act and Prop 8), the obligations involved. . .the mere thought of changing hubby’s depends is what gave me the courage to finally end a 6 year relationship with Real Boyfriend #1.
Surprisingly, once I tied the knot, I found that I ADORE being married: the familiarity, the settled-down-ed-ness, the “we” and the “us” sprinkled into virtually any conversation, the joint signatures on holiday cards. I felt so proud to be Mr. Mufasa’s wife and I loved uttering the phrase “my husband.” I loved fighting knowing that we were in it for the long haul (or at least I was).
I even loved having in-laws. Okay, so they live in England and I’ve only met them twice, but I was good about calling. . .
I don’t know if I have ever been in a less-loving relationship than my marriage, yet one thing is certain:
I love THINKING OF MYSELF as a married woman.
I guess that’s why I still am one.