Ididn't mean to watch them argue, but there she stood, arms akimbo, as her husband clutched the leaf blower. Suddenly, she turned on her heel, slamming the front door behind her. He looked after her for a full minute, then walked into the garage. Moments later, he emerged carrying a blue plastic bag and headed for the ladder he'd leaned precariously against the roof. As he began to climb, his wife suddenly reappeared and leaned against the base of the ladder for support. I thought of my own marriage and smiled.
Iam a cynic. I enjoy black comedies and dark humor. My husband doesn't. When he tries to be sarcastic, it's not funny. In his heart, he is the eternal optimist, too filled with goodness for anything cynical. I've never felt more loved and accepted. It's hard to see that darkly.
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