Piano Man

My husband is an excellent piano player. It was a major selling point when we were courting. He was tall, dark, and handsome...and he played him some dreamy piano.

Our straight, married friend Lenny once went so far as to joke that SJ's piano playing even made him want to sleep with SJ, who wasn't interested. "Narrow-minded f***er!" Lenny grumbled.

SJ can still play the heck out of a George Winston song. The problem is that after awhile it gets old. SJ may be a fabulous player, but he hasn't learned a new song in the dozen years that I've known him.

Everyone has initially charming characteristics-- party tricks, humorous anecdotes, and favorite jokes -- that grow tiresome in the umpteenth retelling. This may be a big reason that people divorce their spouses and start over: your wife may roll her eyes and grit her teeth, but just bring in a replacement and everything old is new again.

I mentioned my theory to SJ.

"So you're saying that I could trade in for a newer model wife and I wouldn't have to learn any new songs?" "Plus," he threw in gallantly, "you wouldn't have to hear the same songs over and over."

He was totally joking, but I was a little annoyed that he took my commentary as an appealing suggestion. I had to admit that on paper, this sounded like a reasonable option -- and a little too good for comfort. Time for Plan B.

It's a lot more work, but I guess we'll have to put an effort into keeping things fresh and not taking each other for granted. More shared activities, continued time together, lots of communication, yada, yada, yada. You know, like on Oprah.

And I'll look to SJ to learn a new piano song every decade or so, though no recitals when Lenny's over. No need to rub it in.