That maybe was the title I originally wanted to use, but we ended up going with this: How to Get a Happier Marriage: Stop Gnawing on Your Grievances Like Hot Wings.
I'm certain I'm not the only person out there who -- upon entering married bliss -- assumed my way of living was the best way, if not the only way. I may be a unique case in that I assumed finances should be attacked immediately and with death-ray focus, that random piles of paper were a sign of of the Armageddon and that birthdays should be celebrated with fanfare and ticker tape parades. However, I was unprepared for my husband's ability to tell with psychic intuition whether or not I had really ironed my shirt before I stepped out of the bedroom. And it mattered to him.
You can read the rest of my post over at BlogHer. And note to self: When Beloved read it, he was all, "What? I don't care that much about ironing. Couldn't you have picked something better?" The occupational hazards of being a writer.
