Lately, I’ve been feeling old-fashioned for still loving the bones of the first fella I ever fell for. Reader, I married him. We're still going strong twenty-five years later with no signs of needing to spice up our relationship. (Just don’t mention last weekend when he poured away the glass of Prosecco I was saving to enjoy while cooking Sunday lunch…)
But these days, between endless articles in praise of polyamory, and celebrities from Lenny Kravitz to Gigi Hadid extolling the virtues of how to coparent, I’m starting to feel like still being into my husband after 25 years of marriage is kind of... weird. Which led me to reflect on why we’re still together after all this time. Mostly, it’s down to his patience, a lot of humour, and a heartfelt belief in the fact that happy-ever-after does exist. (As long as you're willing to work at it.)
