Not about money, not about directions, not about house projects (well a wee bit about house projects)… always about Hallmark. Bill and Kath argued about Hallmark.

Bill — the music/acting/plot-is-awesome, escape-to-feel-good, romantic — married Kath — expects-movie-excellence, escape to stimulating, critic. Uh huh. Fuel for Hallmark arguments.

Enter — Friday nights. And the loveseat. And the only option in Bill’s mind.

“Not again, Babe. I can’t take one more Hallmark.”

“But it’s Christmas. You’ll like this one. And we’re together. That’s all that matters.”

So I resentfully put on my protesting, blank face, the one that refused to smile at any gooshy scene or laugh at the gag-me attempts of humor. I stubbornly crocheted my way through the hour and a half (always recorded for our continuous pleasure) which meant I didn’t have to watch that closely.

What is Hallmark? A way to love my husband. A way to bring him some joy. Nothing whatsoever to argue about, yet I did.

And I am so sorry. So sorry. So sorry. Tears.

If I had him back for only this Christmas season, I would hold his hand in our loveseat, start the incredible Hallmark movie that I recorded for him, smile, laugh and glue my eyes without blinking. I am so sorry.

Here is the end of the Hallmark argument: I watch it by myself now. Well, not really watch it. It watches me. Because Hallmark wants to remind me of the perfect man for me. And it does. And I am so sorry.