If you ask me, marriage is like a steak – they get better with age, and good ones are rare. And to be fair, if you ask some of my less fortunate acquaintances, lifelong legal partnerships can also be bloody, and too much of it might kill you. It works on so many different levels.
Fortunately my marriage is like a grass-fed, properly aged and well marbled porterhouse, and I can’t get enough of it. Having someone you can share the highs and lows with without fear that you will be judged is one of the best feelings you can have, and I’d recommend it to anyone. And, after almost two years of marriage, I still feel as happy as I did on day one.
However, this week The Special One and I have to go prove it to the United States of America, and suddenly I’m starting to be racked with fear that a particularly unromantic immigration officer won’t be impressed by our little notes and wedding pictures, and will instead force us into an impromptu winner takes all edition of Mr & Mrs. Or The Newlywed Game, as I believe they called it over here, demonstrating a peculiar lack of panache in the naming department if you ask me.
The fact is that I know a lot about The Special One, and she knows a lot about me. But put one of us in an isolation chamber, and ask the other one questions about their partner, and I think we’d be a bit rubbish. After all, I love The Special One but that doesn’t mean that I know what her first pet was called. Or that she would be able to tell anyone what my nickname was at school. Or that I would be able to inform the immigration officer any number of things that no husband should really be expected to know. Like the colo
ur of his wife’s eyes, for instance. I mean, obviously I know the colo ur of my wife’s eyes, but not everyone is so diligent.
Looking online this weekend, we saw a huge number of different questions that could be asked of us, including what colo
ur our bathroom is, how many ceiling fans we have, and what we each bought the other for our last birthdays. Given that I can barely remember what I bought for lunch last week, my chances of getting through this unscathed are slim to negligible.
Of course, we do have the fact that The Special One is sporting a rather fetching bump in our favour, although I will be watching with interest to see if the immigration officer asks her any questions about her friendship with – say – a milkman or tennis coach. But just to be on the safe side, I’m going to be revising my Special One knowledge all week – by the time of our interview, I’ll know everything there is to know. Starting with the colour of her eyes, obviously…