Hot water gurgled up around me as I sunk into the mineral water carved basins on the side of a cliff overlooking the cold rapids of the river below. The scenery was glorious. Rock basins filled with various temperatures of water cascaded waterfall-style down the side. It was a lovely way to spend an anniversary.

Thirteen years ago, we said, “I do.” And while I thought we were both on the same page as to what that meant, we weren’t. It has taken many hours of tractor driving with all that alone time for me to finally put my finger on what went wrong — but it finally came to me. When we both said, “I do,” what we meant was “I don’t.”

I don’t see the need to kill spiders anymore. If I would have wanted to kill my own spiders for the rest of my life, I wouldn’t have married a Spider Killer! So stop complaining; it doesn’t matter that the spider is closer to me than you — it just means you must hurry faster before it reaches me! I’m pretty sure that was in the fine print of the marriage vows, “I don’t have to kill spiders ever again as long as you are within screaming distance.”

When I said, “I do,” I also meant I don’t need to put fuel in my car — or DEF fluid, or change the oil, or install new brake pads. Yes, I know I am perfectly capable. Yes, I know I did those things (except the DEF) for nearly 10 years before we got married — but you know what they say: Women let it all go once they finally get married, and I let all that knowledge go. So if I run out of fuel, and have to wait alongside the road for assistance, expect that I will feel it is your fault.

I don’t have to warm my own feet up anymore. I see no reason to bring a heating pad or warm rice sock or hot water bottle to bed in the winter anymore. I married my foot warmer. Since your legs and feet are always warmer than mine, it seems only fair to me that you allow me to press my feet-shaped ice cubes on your nice hot calves. I share my ice; you melt it.

When those vows were spoken, there must have also been some unspoken clause that said shaving is no longer a priority for him. Before the vows, shaving occurred nearly every time we saw each other. After the vows were exchanged, however, it became weekly for church — then, only for special church functions, then it was for the holidays, and now? I’m not even sure he knows where his razor is. The silver lining, though (besides what’s on his face), is that I have almost forgotten how to clean whiskers out of the bathroom sink!

“I do” for him also meant I don’t have to scan things into the computer ever again. Every time the computer acts up, one can almost read his thought subtitles above his head: I don’t have to worry about what programs I need to open documents, or how to save or attach files. I married my secretary. She can have the headache of not having the right kinds of file extensions; she can hook up all the electronic devices, cords, cables, TV, DVD, Bluetooth, Wi-Fi. I don’t want to know, I don’t need to know and, besides, I just used the instruction manual to kill her spider!

When he said, “I do,” he meant I don’t need to pick up my dirty laundry anymore. I don’t need to pick it up, nor do I need to wash it — or dry it or fold it — because those sticky socks kicked off in the corner magically become bleached and mated and tucked back into my drawers. If I wanted to do laundry or keep house I would have stayed single or hired a maid. Instead, I said, “I do.”

When someone tells us how long they have been married, my husband is usually quick to ask, “But how many good ones?” So while we each went into “I do” thinking a little bit like “thank goodness I don’t have to…” we have still enjoyed all 13 years of marriage.

I have run out of fuel a bit more than I was expecting, and he has run out of clean socks a bit more than he was expecting — but at the end of the day, I still get to put my cold feet on him, and he doesn’t have to mess with queuing up our favorite Netflix episode. And the rest is rust and stardust.

Brianna Walker occasionally writes about the Farmer’s Fate for the Blue Mountain Eagle.