Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1962)

things to leave a little time for love. Love in a vine-covered penthouse has to wait for elevators, take the children out to the park even on a gray winter day, run out of butter when important guests are on their way to the table. Love has to stand and grin when the world stares, criticizes, pokes at chinks in armor that has grown slightly rusty in spots. Love has to change like a chameleon when the prince and princess go through that absolutely essential process called maturing which develops from paying endless rent bills, inviting relatives you hate, taking turns to check the baby’s temperature at three in the morning and help him blow his nose. Love is something you fall into fast, but grow into slowly. That dreamy girl I used to be knew about storybook love, all right. Then, after ten minutes in front of a Justice of the Peace and the words “for better or for worse,” her storybook lover — the one she would have sold her reputation, her life, her soul for — was hers alone. There were no more dragons, no more witches or fairy godmothers to make or break spells. Just each other. Just man and wife. The world had other things to do now that they were wed. The world had to find a new prince and princess to weep and ooh and ahhh over. What husbands are for But the ex-princess is no dope. Between sighs. I will tell you a few of the things she's learned — with alternate joy and pain: She has discovered, mainly, what a husband is for. A husband is to be seen and heard and loved. A husband is to be kissed whenever possible — even in front of his mother or (this is hardest) when he is angry at his wife. He is to be viewed by a wife with two sets of lenses: one that reveals a man with lines of fatigue and annoyance around his eyes as he walks in out of the rush hour crush; the other, pink-tinted, that shows a proud prince, still brave and strong, with head held high and shoulders granite-firm, ready to take on any op1 ponent. He is to be told that the children take I after his good traits. He is to be flattered — even when you have to hunt for a reason. He is not to be made to wear blue ties, if he can't stand blue, no matter how well it brings out the color of his eyes. He should be encouraged — even when you think the dream he’s pushing that particular day probably won’t come true, j He should be tricked into thinking you can still look ravishing by 6 :00 P.M. — even if you have to rush to a mirror, swoosh a comb through your hair and put on lipstick five seconds before he walks in the door. He’s to be told something nice you have thought during the day that has nothing to do with bills, budgets or diaper rash. He’s to be told you love him at least once a day and pampered like the children you give most of your attention to. He is never to be ignored. He is to be sat down with, on the couch, the two of you alone, for some few delicious moments of privacy (which you have cleverly managed to wangle from each day’s hectic schedule). Most of all, he is to be congratulated for staying married and making “ever after” his goal. Well — the list is long and hard — especially for a girl who used to dream of knights. I’ll confess — sometimes it’s very hard for me. But I try and I’ll keep on trying, my dear knight with armor that remains remarkably bright through the years (thanks only to a touch of silver polish now and then) — if you try, too. Maybe it will help if you keep a few of your own daily reminders crumpled in the pocket of your sport jacket for handy reference. What wives are for Because a wife, like a husband, is for lots of things. She is to be touched often — if only the gentle brush of a hand across her cheek — for no special reason. She is to be glanced at, with a little thoughtful smile, mostly when you are busy thinking of something else. She is to be forgiven for losing her temper when you blandly remark that “the vegetables are burned again,” because she may have needed someone to lose her temper on at all day. She is to receive extra compliments when she wears your favorite color because it may not be her favorite color at all. She is not to be compared with a little girl, even though she calls up her mother to find out why the cake flopped. She is to be told she is a wonderful, patient, beautiful mother and wife, and she will love you all the more for lying so earnestly. She is to be held and kissed in the evening, as tenderly as the children she has rocked and comforted all day. She is to be reminded, for both your sakes, that once there was a prince and princess who lived only for love, and maybe they are not so far in the past as one might think. You see, to me you are still a prince, with golden hair that curls like a little boy’s. You are the promise and fulfillment of love ever after. You are marvelously handsome in the morning after three hours sleep — even with your eyes half shut and your bathrobe on inside out. You are a knight whose underwear must be folded, socks sorted and shoes forever picked up out of the middle of the floor. As for the poetic wraith of a girl you pursued and won, she will always have hair that gets straight in the rain, a voice that gets sharp under strain and eyes that get red after midnight without a nap in the afternoon. Even if the baby is still crying and the formula boiled over ages ago, the important thing is ... I love you more than ever. P.S. 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