Back when Camber and I were dating (oh, so many moons ago) we had an understood pledge—we went and did things.
We prided ourselves for not being one of those couples that sat around and did nothing but make out and watch movies. We had, we told ourselves, a "quality relationship." We had, as we would say, "quality time" together.
We were actually quite creative while we were dating, always thinking of fun things to do with each other. We went to art museums. We colored in coloring books. We wrote funny poetry. We played board games. We road aloud. We went on walks. We went hiking. We went biking. We went camping (scandal!).
And most of all, we promised ourselves (and each other) that someday—when we grew old, lined, and flabby together, and had tennis balls on the bottoms of our walkers—that we would not be one of those couples that did nothing but sit on the couch, watch TV, and argue about how we met.
NO! We would be adventurous. We would go out of doors. We would do things together! We would climb K2 at age 70!
And yet there are so many days when we both get home from work late in the evening. We stumble through the doorway, barely manage to cook up come macaroni and cheese with green beans, and have some version of this conversation:
"What should we do tonight, honey?"
"Well, we should do something productive. But I'm just in the mood to watch Monk."
And I know I'm not alone in this. Most (or all) of my married friends have had a similar experience. I guess while we're dating, we're all just really bad at knowing what marriage will be like.
So slip in the DVD, baby. Slip in the DVD. What season are we on, anyway?
We are all old people now.