Four years ago, I was excited about my husband’s imminent retirement. I envisioned him cleaning the basement, repainting the house, and cooking dinner while I was at work. Now he’s retired, and I realize the odds are better that the whistling forest animals from Snow White will drop by to maintain our home.
There was no excuse for my ridiculous optimism. A quick internet search would have returned hundreds of hits promising “constant clinging” and “unhappily ever after.” One article warned that retirees must “find reasons to be kind to one another” lest we deteriorate into fisticuffs.
I get it.
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