Forty Years of Marriage Has Brought Us to This

This morning, thinking it’s good to have these sorts of conversations in advance, I asked my husband, “What would you do if I died?”

He was putting on his socks, a process which, since his knee surgery in November, is a bigger undertaking than it might sound. He looked up, cocked his head, and answered.

“I would sell your clothes.”

He elaborated on this theme, talking first about selling my clothes and then selling the things in my office. He was serious.

“I could have a lawn sale.”

What is a lawn sale, I think. Does he mean garage sale? He’s going to organize my Goodwill shirts and my vast old jean collection on hangers on the front lawn? Arrange my never-worn L.L. Bean dresses prettily on the grass (who buys dresses from L.L. Bean? are they hiking dresses? I don’t know what made me do it.)

There is no part of him that I could even remotely imagine doing this.

I laughed about this all day. I laughed the moment he said it. In the car driving to the dog park. Driving home from the dog park and just now in the living room.

When I die, my husband is going to sell my clothes.

Alrighty then.