Last week, I forgot I had a husband.
I was at the dentist, chatting with the hygienist about recent events and I said, "Yeah well you know my fiancé was away for two and a half months."
"Your husband," she corrected me.
I hadn't been in for a cleaning since I moved in the fall, so I also had to update my contact information. They gave me form to fill out. And I had to check the "Married" box in addition to writing out my new address.
It was bizarre.
After adding Mr. Wonderful to my health insurance at work, I also had to go in and change my status in our system from "Single" to "Married."
I don't feel married. I don't feel any different than I did before Mr. W and I started cohabiting in November.
I remember how weird it felt to call him my fiancé. This whole husband business is even weirder. It makes me feel like I'm 65. I was a swingin' single gal for so long. Now I'm an old married lady. You notice that people always refer to singles as "girls" but marrieds as "ladies"? I assure you, I'm no lady...
I had one of our cute wine bottle vases on my desk Friday and a coworker said, "Now how does one go about cutting the glass for that?"
I answered, "The husband built a fancy rig in the garage."
"Your husband," my cohort corrected. "Say it."
"My husband built a glass-cutting rig." It felt like a giant wad of Bazooka gum in my mouth.
I know I'll get used to this. But, right now, the strangeness of it all is sort of entertaining.