Why marriage is a lot like halibut fishing

Whenever I meet a couple that has been married for more than 50 years I always ask them how they’ve done it. One man said, “We agreed whoever wants the divorce has to take everything in the garage.”

A 94-year-old woman whose husband was 96 at the time whispered to me, “We always sleep naked and I keep my hand on Ted’s butt!” It’s gross, but kind of beautiful too.

“There are only three words you need to stay married,” a crusty old man told me. “Yes, my empress.” Women seem to like that one a lot.

If ever a couple understood what it takes to stay married, Bob and Cindy were it. I met them deep in the Alaskan wilderness. Most of the year they live on a forty-foot boat surrounded by nothing but forest and water. There are no roads and it’s a hundred miles to the nearest neighbors. Occasionally, fisherman fly into the bay to spend the day halibut fishing on their boat.

Bob and Cindy never really know if they will have company on any given day. Often, the weather is too lousy for flying. Most of the time they’re alone, with nowhere to go but forty feet of boat. Bob is tall and wiry. His skin is leathery and sunburned beneath his eyes; his hands scarred and rough as sandpaper. He smells like halibut and diesel. Cindy is pretty. She has thin, dirty blond hair streaked with gray. Sparkling blue eyes and a kind smile with lines of weather and age cut deep in her face. She smells like halibut and diesel too.

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