I remember when we were only newlyweds, I got chatting in the pub to a neighbour who used to live beside me ma. He was as old as Maisie. (probably about fifty five at the time)
- Hiya Brian, how are you?
- There y’are Bernie, I’m grand, all things considering.
- How’s Mary?
- Still alive. She’s over there in the corner waiting for her drink.
- So, what has you out of a Tuesday night then?
- It’s our wedding anniversary.
- So why are you looking so unhappy then?
- I told you; she’s still alive.
- Get away out of that Brian,How many years are you married?
- Too many.
- Ah stop, you’re an awful messer. I bet you’ve been happily married for longer than me and Jimmy.
- Happily married, Bernie? there’s no such thing. You’re either happy or you’re married; you can’t be both.
I must admit when I saw the frosty face on Mary sitting in the corner, I knew what he meant. God love him, me ma said she was an awful moan bag. I never found out how many years they were married. He ran off with Lydia around the corner six months later. Maisie said she was only surprised he’d stayed so long.
How many of you are as happily married as Mary and Brian?