I can’t get annoyed with Ted the way I used to get annoyed with Ted. Like the way he would use the bamboo cutting board as a sandwich plate, and the jelly and peanut butter would be stuck to it and I would have to hand-wash it hours later so I could prepare dinner. It was our version of the husband who always leaves the toilet seat up and the wife gets mad. I would see the crumby cutting board, and I would ask “Are you done with this?” He would apologize and wash it, or I would wash it by slamming it around in the sink.

These little things, these micro arguments, are the tiny steam valves that let just enough pressure off a relationship so that things don’t explode. We’ve never been big-time screamers and fighters, although in 12 years of marriage we have certainly raised our voices and had hurt feelings. Our attraction has never been volatile or dramatic, and I reckon that’s why we’ve been friends and lovers for so long.

There were times when the dirty cutting board was the worst thing that happened in my day. I would get mad then let it go. Now there is no letting go of how mad I am.