Funny thing, in a way, being married. Later on this year we will have been married for 20 years. Given that I'm 40, that pretty much tells you we were very young, comparatively, when we decided to be wed.

Miguel has started smoking again, the latest in a long lines of unquits. Or restarts. However you want to put it, the end result is the same. He resumes smoking slowly, hides it from me, is extra nice to me because a/ he's feeling guilty and b/ he's happy to be smoking again, and then one of the kids rats him out. This time he actually confessed about twenty minutes before Rachel told on him. Because, I'm figuring, he knew it was coming. He has a new job, started this week, with all the stress that sort of thing always engenders. Although in my mind it would be easier not to spend time your first week on a job standing outside smoking. But I digress.

Miguel has started smoking again, and that means that I have to (paradoxically) reassure him that I'm not planning to leave him because he's hopeless. And he plays certain little games (that I fully recognize) to ensure that I convey the necessary reassurance.

At one point the other day, he said to me, "Why do you stay married to me?" With the feeling that no answer I gave would quite be good enough, I said, "I don't think anyone should examine the answer to that question very deeply." I reminded him of a particularly cold-blooded conversation we had a few years ago where he basically told me that he enjoyed talking to me, but that our relationship could be conducted mostly over the phone. I wasn't terribly flattered at that time, and I don't want to fall into the trap of trying to answer that question.

I don't know that it matters, really, why. The fact is that I do stay married, and I don't think about the reasons. If this sounds cynical, perhaps you all will sympathize with Miguel... he needs the reassurance. Oh, and bring cigarettes.