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My dog is a border collie named Becky. We talk a lot. She knows tons of English. Usually I’m whispering so my husband, Bob, doesn’t hear.
Last week, Bob and I celebrated our 42nd wedding anniversary. Countless times, I’ve been asked: “What is your secret to a happy marriage?”
You may not know how I met my husband, Bob. After his divorce, he took a college course called “Life after Divorce.” I was the teacher. Bob got an A.
Last week my husband, Bob, and I had coffee and muffins with our friend, Marilee.
I said to my husband, Bob, “I start so many new things without sticking with them.”
Last week my friend, Marilee, and I met for lunch for the purpose of me giving her a list of things to do when I’m dead. She ordered a salad and I ordered a turkey wrap.
“What’s the word for the thing we use every day that has a monitor and a keyboard?” I asked my husband, Bob.
On Feb. 22, 1985, my mother wrote me a letter. I have not read it until today.
We have five cats (which is rather embarrassing to admit). They band together, approaching us en masse, like a gang from West Side Story.
My husband, Bob, will turn 70 soon. He’s been refusing to get out of bed.
My eyes are bleeding.
If I ignore the simple things, I’ll be ignoring most of my life.
My husband, Bob, was the first non-Jewish person to marry into my strict Orthodox Jewish family.
“What do you have behind your back?” I asked my husband, Bob.
For most of us, our county fairs happen in the summer. But in our house, they’re year-round affairs.
“Honey,” I said to my husband, Bob, “it’s time to say goodbye.”
We are just a click away!