Marriage Ends the Comfort Zone

I've been sitting on this post for a years. I felt like I'm not in position to talk or anything until, well, wedding bells and all that. But why wait? Who knows? Maybe it'll explode into an interesting conversation. 

I like to be comfortable. Who doesn't? But there is the understanding that when in public, one's appearance can have ramifications. Respect, assumptions regarding intelligence, looking responsible enough to handle a mortgage. 

When I leave the house, I am no longer as comfortable as I would be in my jammies. Arriving home, I clamber swiftly, joyfully into 100% cotton tees and pajama pants courtesy of the men's department, since I have a sneaking suspicion the dudes are given softer fabric. 

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" Dinner tastes so much better. 

As a child, I always envisioned what my married life would be like. No, no, not living in a castle with a pony and Prince Charming; my life not changing much, except I would be pottering about an apartment whilst in my hand-me-down (meaning broken-in) sleepwear. 

My logic was that a husband is like a family member like any other. I can hang out in pajamas around my mother, my father, my brothers, my sisters, right? Because they love me as I am, and wouldn't hold it against me if I am comfortable. 

But as I get older, observe the state of marriage in real and television life, it is obvious that my previously childish view of wedded bliss is kinda off. Wedded bliss is not about being comfortable. Bummer. 

In "Working Late and Working It" of the now-long dead Up All Night, Chris, who is the stay-at-home daddy, it getting frustrated when his wife Reagan tosses off her worksuit for stained and stretched maternity wear. He knows that it would be suicide to come out and say it, and his fellow STAHD Reed explains to him that he makes sure to look good for his wife, and she returns the favor. 

She doesn't get the hint (and he can't breathe in his skin-tight jeans), which eventually leads to a showdown with Reagan storming out of the room. But after a chat with a buddy, she puts on something for dinner that isn't . . . gross. 

I've come across quite a few articles on this topic, from Rabbi Shmuley Boteach's observations to an answer to a debate if unconditional love is the enemy of lust. Sarah responded no, sweatpants are. Rebbetzin Palatnick addresses this around the 29 minute mark.

Betty White, one of the funniest women on earth, once said that when she knew her husband was coming home, she swiped on a fresh coat of lipstick. I was unsettled when I first heard that years ago, but on closer consideration . . . 

The love between a man and his wife is not bound in blood, as is the love between a parent and child. The connection between a man and woman cannot be equated; the love is not unconditional, for one thing. Of course it is conditional in how that spouse was chosen in the first place. 

My vision of marriage has now changed. So much for a pajama pal. Yet how can I cook supper freely, if splashing sauces and juices on stain-friendly jammies are no longer an option? I guess I better stock up on some aprons.