I’m feeling very married these days. More than when I stood in front of the judge, more than when I opened a joint checking or co-signed a mortgage. And even more than when I drove away from the hospital with our first child.

While my marriage has seen its share of compromise, we’re on the brink of its biggest conciliation to date. We’re moving for my husband’s career – to Duluth.

It’s a good opportunity; it really is. But I’ve been so deep in mourning I’ve had a hard time hearing all the good reasons. My husband had to all but don sock puppets (speaking loudly & slowly) to help me to follow the logic of the career potential, the insurance benefits (we currently buy our own) and the beauty of moving to a less inflated housing market. It’s all good; I know, but we’ll be moving for his great adventure and I’ll be the tag-along – the little woman, the Stepford wife.

So I’ve been in ostrich mode lately and decided to cope by not. I ordered all six seasons of Sex and the City (SATC) from hclib.org [1] and have been watching them on my Mac laptop - propped up on the kids’ bathroom stool - where I can see it while in a hot bath drinking a glass of wine. This is a good place to be while waiting for your bed’s electric blanket to heat up.

And while I was deep into my media therapy session watching the writer commentary, she said it. Some fancy screenwriter was commenting that SATC had to be in New York because it is so alive, so vibrant…and because (and I paraphrase here,) “Who would watch a series called Sex and Duluth?”

NO SHOUT OUTS TO THE SAD WOMAN IN THE BATHTUB!

This got me thinking that it’s NOT the time to invite me to a bridal shower. I’ve long held the belief that one should be wary of any life event that requires a “shower.” Those of us who have done said event, like the married women who typically throw these gatherings, can't bring ourselves to tell the bride the cold truth about her future institution, so we just buy her a Cuisinart instead.

I’m afraid if I attended in my present state, I would lose my head and leap up and start shaking the bride. “Don’t you know that what this party means? One day you could be unexpectedly plucked from the beige rambler of your dreams - the one with the open floor plan, first floor laundry and solid school district – and cast out of the Cities to a place that is the butt of screenwriter jokes!” I’d then have to straighten myself up, smooth out the bride and excuse myself to the restroom where I’d climb out the window.

Of course, it is not like I’m leaving the Twin Cities forever. I’ll be back for overnights probably twice a month to retain some writing clients here and stay with my fabulous mother-in-law.

And there are moments, when I’m clear-eyed and possess a willing spirit, when I can actually see where my husband is coming from. It really is a great opportunity for our family and Duluth does have a tempting lifestyle. But I’m not putting everything I own into a truck for job or a big lake. I’m doing it because I love my husband and want to support him in his career as he has supported me in mine. Because you see, I’m married.