The more a couple is together, the more alike they become. A romantic notion? Maybe when one is young and newly in love and still separate people. After 13 years of marriage, I have come to a terrifying realization: you do not get to choose the direction you “grow together.” I’m sure Peter didn’t intend to become more socially awkward any more than I intended to laugh at an episode of the Family Guy. And yet, here we are.
I think it may be worse. Our individual geekiness is combining. The other day Peter wanted to know where I kept my copy of the Lao Tzu and I found myself reading an issue of Kiplingers. At this rate he will one day enjoy Sudoku while I watch professional golf on TV. The very thought makes me shudder.
I suppose when I was 1st married I pictured our conglomeration as something similar to a trip to the grocery store. I could stroll down the isles, carefully examining my options. “Hmm, Peter is good at debating. Sounds good, add to the cart” or “Late night snacking smells a little stale, let’s discard it.” I’m sure he would have much rather added my love of math than my love of naps. You would think if we were doomed to become alike, we could at least pick which similarities we would adopt and which we could discard. I sort of thought we would take the best of Peter and Charlotte, sloughing off the less desirable parts, when we created our “Cheter” (Did you snicker when you read that? If so you might be as deprived as we are).
At least we don’t have to worry about beginning to look like each other (of course that is because we already look alike, when first married we were mistaken often as brother and sister (a weird brother and sister who held hands and kissed a lot (and had a proclivity for nested parenthesis))).
And so we may be doomed to watch our friends become adorable older couples as we become complete social misfits. Just call us Parlotte.