My name is Kim Caramele, and I am in a good marriage. Oh, wow, it feels good to get that off my chest. I’ve been keeping it quiet for more than six years, but I can tell this is a safe space, so I’ve decided to come clean. “But, Kim,” I know you’re asking, “why would a good marriage have to be reluctantly admitted to like it’s a drinking problem or a One Direction poster hanging in your bedroom?” Well, it’s not always easy to talk about being happily married—you risk coming off as braggy or preachy. It’s far more acceptable, in fact, to engage in all-out trash-talking sessions with friends about the annoying things your significant other does (if you can’t say anything mean, don’t say anything at all). So, for the most part, when people ask how things are going between Vinny and me, I say, “Fine, thanks!” and keep the details to myself. But there’s another reason I’ve learned that speaking honestly about my marriage can be a bummer: People judge. Ooooh, they love to judge. Especially if you and your partner don’t follow the typical rules. Here, a few things about my marriage that have triggered eyebrow raises over the years:
The Fact That My Husband and I Slept in Separate Beds for About a Year…
When I mention this at, for example, a dinner party (I don’t know why I said dinner party—I never go to dinner parties!), the person I’m speaking to will immediately assume that my husband and I were going through difficulties in our marriage. After all, banishing him from the bedroom is a way to assert power and deal with anger, right? Well, no. Not in my situation. We opted for separate rooms because a few years ago I had really bad restless legs syndrome, and I would kick poor Vinny all night long. Since I wasn’t getting restful sleep, I would snore. Like, really loud. Loud like a mash-up of a banshee and a wildebeest that was simultaneously getting stung by a bee whilst stubbing her toe.
Vinny, believe it or not, wasn’t getting the most peaceful of sleeps either, and knowing that kept me awake with guilt. So we changed it up. Our bedtime routine went as follows: We would lie in his bed and talk, then either fool around and snuggle or keep talking, before I shuffled to the bedroom next door, where I would sleep easier knowing that I wasn’t physically and auditorily maiming my husband, and he would sleep better for obvious reasons. Eventually we had enough money to buy a king-size bed, and we have been sleeping together in it since. That’s all there was to it. No deep-seated need to be apart. Just a regularly seated desire to sleep and let the person you love sleep as well. Sleep is so important, and being deprived of it could lead to a severe case of resenting the sh-t out of your spouse.
…That We Don’t Wear Wedding Rings
Vinny keeps his in a drawer, and I rarely wear mine either. When I tell other people this, I can see their minds going: He doesn’t wear a ring, so women will think he’s single, and then he can have an affair! Nope. Wrong again. Vinny doesn’t wear his ring because…wait for it…he doesn’t like wearing jewelry. Boom! Scandal! Intrigue! Look, some people don’t like accessories, myself included: Whatever it is, I’m super aware of the feel of it. While having a conversation or typing, all I’ll be thinking is, Bracelet, bracelet, there’s a bracelet on my wrist. For a few years I ignored that feeling and wore my rings anyway. Then I gained, like, 15 pounds, and they got too small for me (or, rather, I got too big for them). So every time I would wear them, I would think, Rings, rings, I’m wearing rings, and they are too small, and, oh my God, how did I let myself gain this weight? And because it feels too disheartening to have the bands stretched out—because maybe I’ll someday stop eating pizza as a snack and lose that weight—I don’t wear them. Maybe I will again one day. But whatever I decide will have nothing to do with how I feel about Vinny.
Which brings me to why I don’t care that my husband doesn’t wear his ring. Call me a naive dummy, but I don’t believe he will ever cheat on me. More important, though, if a husband does have the propensity to have an affair, he will do so, regardless of his jewelry. (A ring will not keep someone from cheating; a lack of interest in cheating will.) So I don’t care if Vinny doesn’t wear his ring. He has one, and he even knows where it is. That’s enough for me.
…That We Don’t Do the Online PDA Thing
I’ve never tagged Vinny in a “Happy anniversary to my loving husband, whose footprints in the sand walk beside mine in blissful whatever, whatever” post. What I do share are pics of my dog—who is a-goddamn-dorable—and at times funny marriage-ish things Vinny says. Like, one day, while putting away dishes, he said with a tenor of severity, “Kim! Your f--king cat mug goes on your mug shelf.” His genuine frustration about seeing my mug with a strung-out cat that says “Catffeinated” on it among his and that we both knew the boundaries of our mug shelves killed me, and I needed to share. But I’d never post a photo of flowers he got me. Because whoooo cares? If you want to post that noise, fine. I don’t get it—but fine.
The thing is, getting a few “likes” or sharing a Serta isn’t what makes our marriage strong. What does make it strong is that we are best f--king friends. When I’m feeling happy or sad or depressed or proud or hungry or crazy or angry or hungry or anything, really, the person I want to talk about it with—or sit around in silence about it with—is Vinny, and he feels the same. My favorite thing is to happen upon him when I’m not expecting to, like in a store. If I turn a corner and see him, I smile like an idiot. After 13 years I still can’t believe I get to be with him. Sorry. That positive stuff must be annoying to read, so here is something irritating about him: He hums. A lot. And it’s distracting. There you go!
Now stay with me, please, I have a point to make. We need to avoid judging people’s relationships just because they’re not exactly like ours or what we’ve seen in the movies. Everyone has their own likes, dislikes, interests, and baggage, and figuring out how to make those things work in harmony with another human for the rest of your life is hard enough without having to defend it to an audience. So try to keep an open mind and the judgment off your face. I’ll try to do the same. And at the very least, I’ll try to keep my f--king cat mug on my own shelf. Because that matters.
Kim Caramele is an Emmy- and Peabody-winning writer and producer. Her credits include Inside Amy Schumer, Trainwreck, and an upcoming mother-daughter comedy starring Amy Schumer and Goldie Hawn. She has a three-legged dog named Abbott, who is very cool. Like, very cool.
