Who You Married

Well we all fall in love

But we disregard the danger

Though we share so many secrets

There are some we never tell

Why were you so surprised

That you never saw the stranger

Did you ever let your lover see

The stranger in yourself?

~Billy Joel, "The Stranger"

There are things your spouses do when you're gone that most of you would probably not approve of. Even things they do in bed ... like eat marshmallows. Sunday my husband left on business to Detroit. Shortly after he departed, I surfed the internet for a TV program I'd been meaning to check out, opened the bag of giant marshmallows he bought me for Valentine's Day and snuggled up in my bed, err, our bed.

In fact, when he's gone I pull out several bad habits. There is rampant nail-biting, staying up late watching TV on the internet, leaving the clean clothes on the couch well beyond our 18-hour maximum and completely disregarding the dishes until shortly before he returns. I realize in what light this portrays me - it's brutal, but true. And it's sort of fun, like a no-holds-barred return to what I imagine college was like for a lot of people.

It's not that I wish I were alone. Much of the time, we are the equivalent of exquisitely paired peanut butter and strawberry jam. We share wicked inside jokes, split blizzards at Dairy Queen, mix sheetrock mud together and manage not to kill one another picking out four different types of lighting fixtures at Menards (sometimes a girl just wishes they had more sconces from which to choose).

But sometimes, in that oh-so-cliche way, it's nice to be apart. I sleep crosswise on the bed and throw my arms wide because there is no one there to accidentally karate chop. I regress into the completely self-indulgent aforementioned activities and don't really worry about what time I'll be home for supper or if there's any meat or bread in our house (today for lunch I had yogurt and almonds). I pick up my embroidery, read books and don't wonder if my spouse needs entertaining or a hand with sheetrock screws.

And yet, it's a finite amount of glorying in solitude one can do as half a duo. It hits me right about bed time. The silence his absence creates suddenly fills the space around me. His not being there is just as palpable as when he is there, sticking his hand on my face at 4 a.m. in a sleepy daze. It drives me to distraction, and I can't fall asleep until I've exhausted myself so that my eyes won't remain open (hence staying up too late). By the time he's back, I'm in a state somewhat akin to college finals with the lack of sleep and sugar ingestion. And then he rescues me from myself. And we start all over again with this beautiful mess of being roommates, best friends and occasionally long-distance spouses.

P.S. If he ever shares what he does in my absence, don't tell me. I'm 100 percent sure I don't want to know.