Perfect

We had a good marriage.  I could never go so far as to call it perfect because I don’t believe there’s such a thing.  Take two flawed individuals, make them live together, and what do you get, an imperfect marriage. I picture, perfect looking poodles, groomed with bows and sparkles, peeing on the rug when company comes over.  I know that perfect looking people, well dressed and spoken, burp and express other bodily noises.  Striving to reach perfection is a waste of time but trying to do and be the best is not.  My husband and I got some things right, like the same hobbies and parenting methods.  We got some things wrong, like irreconcilable spending and neatness habits.  We fixed the flaws we could and put up with the rest.  The good each brought to the marriage and what was fixed, consistently fought against every difference, every deficit.  Remembering all that’s wrong is easy because it comes up again and again but I’d have to make a list in order to bring to mind everything that’s good, and when I did, the good always won.  Still flawed, but without anyone to remind me, I conclude I’m looking pretty good!

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