Cheers to 26 years of holding that cute guy’s hand

My Sentiments Exactly

I’ve learned a lot of stuff in my 53 years circling the sun.

Some of it really, really helpful. Some of it I immediately filed into the BFI dumpster, yo.

But most of it accumulated over the last 26 years, since I married that cute boy with the adorable smile on Sept. 2, 1995.

When you live with someone for more than a quarter of a century, you start to get a feel for their general likes, dislikes and, you know, insanely annoying habits, quirks and generally annoying traits.

For the record, this goes both ways; PK is likely a creature of notoriously neurotic norms, natch. Clearly, I’m a nervous nellie, world-class worrier, and perpetual pain in the pants in certain regards.

Then again, most humans have at least a few manic mannerisms, in my weak defense.

But if I learned anything about cohabitating with Martians, it’s that we Venetians must adapt if we want peace on Earth and goodwill toward the men we live with, capisce?

So, for all the newlyweds wondering if there’s some sort of helpful cheat sheet to wedded bliss, allow me to share what I’ve learned in the past 9,493 days…

No. 1: There are two types of people in this world, those who screw the lid back on after each use, wipe the rim after every application, and properly squeeze the toothpaste from the end — and the rest of you.


Look, if you’re married to a mid-tube squisher, don’t whip ’em with your Waterpik, just get two separate tubes and voila, problem solved. Simply avoid gazing at his gloppy gunk and s’all good.

No. 2: Sometimes men really AREN’T thinking about anything.

Like seriously. Nothing. Barren wasteland mind-spaces happen.

And you know what? It’s no reflection on how he feels about you. Truly. So, stop offering a penny for his thoughts every five seconds; it’ll save a ton of aggravation — not to mention like, a bazillion pennies, a’ight?

No. 3: The lid is never going down.

This is neither negotiable nor intentional, in my experience. Either you can deal with manually lowering it or you can’t. HINT: Just put it down yourself, gals. This is NOT a hill to die on because, in the big scheme of life, it just ain’t a deal breaker, OK?

Save that energy for the bigger debates, like, I don’t say, buying the bargain brand of toilet paper. This is one I refuse to back down on. Period. End of story. Do NOT come home with single-ply, gents. Ever.

No 4: Dads discipline. Moms cave.

Now, for those of you who become parents, you’ll learn that one of you is sterner than the other. Typically, Dad is more the heavy while Mom is, well, let’s face it, bottle genie, i.e. “Yes, master, I am here to grant your every wish.” Just go with it, dads.

No. 5: If he holds your hand when you’re hurling, he’s a keeper.

Listen, when you spend this many years sharing space with another Homo sapien, you’re bound to have many bonding moments. Lots are fab. Lots are soul-crushing.

But when you find the boy who will stand by you through childbirth and kidney stones and horrendous hair and irrational fears, and job losses, and friend betrayal, and losing your very rock (still miss you, Pop) — you hold his hand back.

Through anything. Through nothing. Through everything — and for as long as you both have hands, understand?

Thanks for always holding my hand, Kerry Kimerer. I promise to never let go of yours.

Cheers to 26 years! Send the Kimerers congrats via www.patriciakimerer.com.


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