True Love

by Judith Viorst (I didn't write this)

It is true love because

I put on eyeliner and a concerto and
make pungent observations about

the great issues of the day

Even when there’s no one here but him

And because

I do not resent watching the Green Bay Packers

Even though I am philosophically opposed to football,

And because

When he is late for dinner and I know

he must be either having an affair or

lying dead in the middle of the street,

I always hope he’s dead.

It’s true love because

If he said quit drinking martinis but I kept

drinking them and the next morning

I couldn’t get out of bed,

He wouldn’t hell me he told me,

And because

He’s willing to wear unironed undershorts

Out of respect for the fact that I am philosophically

opposed to ironing,

And because

If his mother was drowning and I was drowning

and he had to choose one of us to save,

He says he’d save me.

It’s true love because

When he went to San Francisco on business

while I had to stay home with the painters

and the exterminator and the baby who

was getting the chicken pox,

He understood why I hated him,

And because

When I said that playing the stock market was

juvenile and irresponsible and then the

stock I wouldn’t let him buy went up

twenty-six points,

I understood why he hated me,

And because

Despite cigarette cough, tooth decay,

acid indigestion, dandruff, and other

features of married life that tend to

dampen the fires of passion,

We still feel something

We can call

True love.