Yesterday was amusing because we got a letter from the council which was addressed to Mr and Mrs A. Mark took it as a slight that he was reduced to the little wife, and spent the afternoon doing manly and macho things with his mates.
I can’t say that either of us are particularly feminine, but I think that I would suit the stereotypical gay man image more than Mark, and that is all because I’m a geek without any muscles while Mark’s biceps have started to bulge after his manual labour and weight lifting.
Mark is much more of an ideological feminist than I am, so I spent the day teasing him about his reaction. As if he would think himself less if he did wear skirts and make-up. As if that would make him less of a man. As if being a man was better than being a woman. That sort of gentle ribbing designed to infuriate an ideologue.
In response he went out to work on the car engine or something because he spent a couple of hours with the bonnet open. Then he went with Stephen to play football in the cold autumn day.
It is amusing how quickly Mark and I have slipped into the comfortable state of matrimony. I was thinking about this when I teased him, after the letter. It feels comfortable like a well-worn and much beloved glove.
What I suppose is that we feel comfortable about it because we have been in that state for so long; far longer than between now and our marriage in August. I think we’ve felt like we’ve been married for years.
We did live together for nearly two years before the marriage, and we became set in our rut. Once we married, we just continued to do what we had been doing.
The only difference is that when we fill out forms, we can tick a box that says ‘married’, and then write in our spouse’s name.
It is a good feeling, to belong to someone like that. I can’t really describe it better than that. It is a comfortable, safe, and profound feeling. When we think about it any.
It is not only our marriage that has become a comfortable rut. School too is settling into a routine. While the first month has been full of parties and going-out and things where we try to be presentable to a wider academic community, things are settling down into the old familiars of sitting back to back in our little office doing homework and assignments.
He tries to show me the Greek that is the maths he’s doing, and I try to interest him in the 18th century essayists and writers that I’m doing. Neither is very successful is stoking the imaginations and passions of the other’s subjects. But that in itself is quite cute.
With the growing dark outside our window, we can look down on our back lot and the town and the neighbourhood and feel like an old comfortable couple like that. Honestly, I can highly recommend the routine boredom of this. Then I can be naughty and slap his bottom and give him a big kiss because he’s all mine, mine, mine.
Except for when officialdom gets gender confused and try to impose a hetero-sexist reality on us; then he can be miffed and go out and work on the car to prove his macho credentials. See? I’m developing an appropriate lingo for my station as a university student. Soon I’ll quote long passages of Marx and Engels to you and sound like I fervently believe every syllable of it.