First it was our front gate. We live in an area where all our neighbors have automatic gates. It’s a bit of a status symbol, along with quite a convenience. I suggested it. Sherry said no way. I asked why. Sherry replied that my body would thank her in 20 years. I told Sherry I was voting in favor of my body today. I lost.
Next was our new driveway. It’s built from beautiful pavers, placed with great precision in intricate patterns. Sherry says no cars or trucks should drive on such a beautiful piece of artwork. I say, “But it’s a driveway, not a walkway. Our antiquated, heavy front gate is 100 yards from our front door. What are you, crazy?” Sherry replies, “Your body will thank me in 20 years.”
My friends make fun of me as we struggle with the front gate and stroll down my ”walkway.” They use derogatory terms about my manliness.
I stand there at dusk, looking out on our paved walkway. I’m winded. It took three trips to get the bags of groceries to the kitchen. Sherry comes up from behind and gives me a big hug. She whispers that she loves me.
All right. I have a heavy, old fashioned gate leading onto a beautiful, long walkway. My body today tells me I’m fine with that.