I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. Click on this link to get to a calculator to review your chances of getting married after age 40. Seriously.
Just for grins, I took their little test, answering questions based on where and who I was right before I met Husband. My chances? 37 percent. Not so good. I guess random meetings don’t count for this calculator.
Then, for additional giggles, I entered my answers as a man. My odds increased to 40 percent.
Have fun!
When a man marries a woman, they become one; but the trouble starts when they try to decide which one.
~Unknown
According to a recent Fidelity Survey, 80% of couples disagree about their retirement plans, making it a larger issue than politics, religion or household chores. (Okay, they might be biased). But, still, I kinda get it.
With the latest U.S. economic news and the dire predictions for the country’s superpower future, Husband recently surprised me by suggesting we might end up retiring outside the U.S. After I recovered from such an unusually bold statement from Husband, I naturally asked to where? He had no answer for that. But, it put me on alert that perhaps we hadn’t discussed our happy ending well enough. I mean was he talking Mexico village or Swiss chalet?
Getting married older means you probably arrived at the altar with some retirement plans of your own already simmering on the back brain cells. And, I have to be honest, learning a new language at age 75 so I could just buy some groceries was not being considered. I pictured the home we are supposed to be building as where we’d park ourselves for the duration. (I know how to get to Tysons Corner from here. And, I like it.)
However, Husband is clearly open to other living possibilities. And, it is directly linked to what’s-left-in-the-accounts-after-the-government-has-its-way-with-it. As in, if America becomes a country where more than 50% of the population is taking more out of the government than putting into it, we’re leavin’.
Well, am I? Do I get a say?
(By now you can guess, Husband is fiscally conservative. I am not, though I do save for retirement and have savings. But it’s nothing compared to Husband. I’m only hoping he is in a sharing mood when we are old and gray.)
How exactly does a couple determine where they land, anyway? It used to be the man’s job to declare the location of the home site. Women just had to clean it. But, now, well, it’s different. And, if you are an LBB, it’s really, really different. (We have maid service, for one.) Plus, couples nowadays tend to act with more equality, especially if you found each other after you already found yourself.
But, are retirement plans determined by who has the larger bank account? Or by whomever brings in the most cash flow on a monthly basis? Or is it something else? Hmmmm…. And, I ponder, is his retirement fund my retirement fund, and visa versa? Is this something we share evenly or do we start a list on the refrigerator of whose turn it is to buy the Metamucil?
Something to talk about…
Husband and I like to eat. Often. And, well. You might even say our appetites have a ring through our noses. We go where it tells us to go.
Lately, we’ve been hanging a bit with another cool couple who love to dine as much as we do. And, thanks to them, we’ve discovered some great new restaurants. But, apparently, we are dining “amateurs.”
Our friends were slightly dismayed when (twice now), Husband and I have ordered the same items off the menu. I have always figured, hey, whatever rocks your appetite. You want the salmon. You order the salmon.
But, our friends pointed out that doing so could be quite limiting. To the palate, anyway. I mean, how are you going to share otherwise? Rumor has is that sharing is part of the dining experience when you are a couple.
On Sunday, we met our friends for brunch at Zinc, a Charlottesville restaurant. And, we did what we tend to do – go for the same items.
But, our friends asked, are you sure you want to do that? So, we decided to go crazy. Husband got the banana and nutella crepe and I got the Eggs Benedict, with strict instructions to share.
Of course, we discovered, we are sharing proletarians, too. We asked for side plates to put the other’s “portion” on them. (Our friends actually switch plates.)
But, I wasn’t too sure about handing over my whole plate. For one, what if Husband doesn’t give it up when I want it back? And, two, does that mean he gets a little bit of everything on the plate? I mean, there were hash browns at stake here.
So, not to take too much risk on a Sunday morning, Husband got his own side order of potatoes.
See? friends noted, It’s all in how you order!
Baby steps, I reminded them. Baby steps.
(Do you share your food with your significant other? Do share, er, tell.)
I think men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage. They’ve experienced pain and bought jewelry.
~Rita Rudner