The other day I saw one of those bikes that looks like the riders are laying down while they peddle. Only this bike was a little different. The husband was facing forward with his legs peddling out in front of him while his wife was behind him facing backwards and peddling in the opposite direction. Yet the bike was moving forward!

If that isn’t a fitting metaphor for marriage I don’t know what is!

Next year my wife and I will celebrate 50 years of wedded bliss. My marriage is the thing I am most proud of in my life and I knew after our first date that Diane was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Still, I was reluctant to ask, “Will you marry me?”

I was afraid she’d reply, “Will I what?” Or, “I’d rather drink a gallon of paint thinner!”

Statistics reveal that marriage, or what is now referred to as “the sociocultural interface” or “two or more people sharing a living space,” is now an alternative lifestyle and a dying institution. I have a friend who’s been married so many times the preacher gives him a volume discount and he could live for a month on the rice that’s collected in the pockets of his suit. Another monogamously challenged acquaintance jokingly refers to his “five mile wedding license” and “his current wife.”

Having a great marriage is not easy and there are sacrifices one has to make. For example, I was raised on Miracle Whip and was shocked to find out from my bride that, “Only poor people eat Miracle Whip.” She ate real Mayonnaise and wouldn’t have Miracle Whip in the house. I figured this was a battle not worth fighting.

Then there’s her choice in football teams. She’s been a fan of the Pittsburg Steelers ever since Terry Bradshaw played for them. (She’s got his thing for Bradshaw I don’t understand.) Whereas I’ve liked the 49’ers ever since I became friends with their offensive line coach who invited us once a year to sit in the owner’s box to watch a game. You can imagine how humiliated I was when she rooted for the Steelers while eating cheese puffs in the owner’s box of the Niners. Rather than argue I just gave up watching football.

My wife says I only have two faults, I don’t listen and… I forget the other one. Oh yea, it’s my driving. Although you really couldn’t call it that as all I did was hold the steering wheel. She used to constantly tell me, “Slow down! Speed up! Don’t pass! Don’t let that jerk cut you off!” I finally made the ultimate sacrifice and gave up driving after having a debilitating stroke. (Seizures and driving don’t mix.) This meant she had to do all the driving and we haven’t had a fight ever since. My neighbors have the same problem and have to drive two vehicles even when going to the same place!

I did have a minor victory in the toilet paper and paper towel department though. You won’t believe this but my wife was taught that the paper was to come off the back of the roll while I was normal and knew the proper way was for it to cascade down the front.

I also realized right away that if our marriage was going to last I’d have to give up control of three things: the remote control and two books… cook and check.

The best advice I ever got on how to stay married came from my Grandpa who I never heard get in a fight with Grandma. When he gave me the family heirloom diamond ring that was to be Diane’s engagement ring he said, “If the husband or wife starts to get a little hot under the collar the wife should go to the kitchen and the man should go to the garage. The man will get a little quality time in the shop and maybe even some hot chocolate chip cookies. As for the wife, there’s always the possibility that the car will fall off the jack stands and she’ll get to collect on the life insurance policy.”

Oh, and I almost forgot this tip… generally speaking, the couple that laughs together stays together.

Two recently retired road agent ring men who’d put too much mileage on their odometers were overheard at a bull sale.

“I’m going to sue every auctioneer on earth,” said one old-timer to the other. “By turning up their speakers W-A-A-A-Y too loud over the years and making me stand in close proximity to their huge speakers I swear they’ve made me lose my hearing.”

“What’s that you say, you’re going to get an earring? You’d be the last person on earth I’d expect to get one of those things. Is it gonna be one of those gaudy, diamond-encrusted thingamajigs or are you leaning towards a couple gold hoops in both ears? I suppose you’re gonna tell me you’re gonna cover your body with tattoos, so the next time I see ya’ you’ll have a tongue stud, a ring in your nose and have your body covered in multi-colored epidermal ink.”

“Stink? Well it wasn’t me. My missus made me take a shower and put on a clean Depends® before she’d let me leave the house this morning.”

“Did you say you’re leasing out your house? I thought you liked it here and was under the impression that you and Margie were as happy as two fleas in a doghouse.”

“We’re not leasing out our house. The next move we make is to the funeral home. The only bad thing is we’re too far away from the kids so they don’t come by very often. It’s just as well, whenever they do come all they do is stare at their phones and listen to rap.”

“Did you say wrap or crap?”

“Does it really matter? What’s the difference?”

“It sounds to me like your hearing is even worse than mine. I swear, you need to get the wax out of your ears or buy one of those high dollar hearing aids.”

“AIDS! The hell you say. And to think I thought you were a clean-livin’, devoted husband all the years we spent on the road together. You sure had me fooled. And to think I was figurin’ on splittin’ a room with you some day in a rest home?”

“I think they’re down there to the right but I could be wrong cause I’m kinda confused. There were three of them. One for each sex.”

“Nah, me either. After being married for as long as we have you kinda lose interest after awhile. You know what I mean? Besides, you know me, I’m, not one of those guys who brags about his conquests, having sex twice a day, four times a week. I suppose I could lie about it.”

“Who died? I’m telling you right now if it was one of those dang auctioneers I’ll help dig the hole myself and I’ll even chip in for the gravestone as long as the epitaph isn’t too flowery. Speaking of dying, remember all those years we spent on the road together going from one sale to the next? Well, I’m sad to say I finally had to trade the old gal off for a newer model?”

“You’re gettin’ a divorce?” exclaimed the old ring man, pounding the side of his head like just like you do when you’re swimming and get water in your ears. “I tell ya, this old world is spinnin’ way too fast for me. AIDS, tattoos, three bathrooms and now you’re telling me you’re leaving the love of your life? What is it now, sixty years you’ve been married? Why, I never thought I’d live to see the day…”

“Yeah, I kinda surprised myself too, but it was getting time. I wanted a newer sportier model. She sure didn’t owe me anything and it was kinda hard saying goodbye to that old Chevrolet.”

“With all the problems you’re having I can’t help thinkin’ it could be related to your drinkin’, going to bed high as a kite every night. I’m not sayin’ it’ll work for everyone, but I think you might want to try AA.”

“I know hay is high right now. If we don’t get a rain soon I’m gonna go broke buying hay.”

I didn’t say “hay” you old goat, I said… ah just fuggidabout it.”