What’s in a name?

I’m sitting at Starbucks, listening to a man plot how to minimize the alimony he’ll be paying his soon to be ex-wife. I can’t help wondering what could have gone so wrong that this well dressed, articulate man can’t say his wife’s name without adding an awful guttural hiss at the end. It couldn’t be because of the dirty dishes, or that he worked too many nights and she worked too many days. It’s too many of these arguments left unresolved, to fester and turn each spouse’s name putrid in the other’s mouth. There must be some way to guarantee that won’t happen to my marriage, or to yours. I feel helpless. I want to reach over and smack this man in the nose for his ugly selfish words. I want to remind him of how his wife’s name sung in the air around them on their wedding day. But I won’t. He’s given too much away for one girl at a coffee shop to smack some sense into him (even an overly poetic one). I’m going to go home and make my own husband corn instead of peas tonight, because it’s his favorite side. The only thing I can guarantee is that I’m going to keep doing something everyday to remind him that he’s my favorite side!    

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