Dinos Eat People and Marriages But Most Are Vegetarians

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I’m not a dinosaur per se, but I have dinosaur emotions. In fact, we all have dinosaur emotions. Especially married people. I have a T-Rex inside me who sticks her head out of my ears when my husband and I are not having such a jolly time together and sensibilities have become prehistoric.

This is when my T-Rex anger bares her dagger teeth and curls her ruthless claws. She might use her words — huffy ones, or dismissive — but mostly she’ll stay silent, and you will never know she’s there. But I know she’s there because she proceeds to gnaw my insides until I’m half a rawhide dog bone.

Speaking of dinosaurs, one day I saw dinosaurs at the store. They weren’t real because dinosaurs died out long ago, but they were representative. I brought them home to make a joke in my kitchen.

Dinosaurs are indeed people. Some days, when patience is at an all-time low, a Pterodactyl will drop in a heap inside me and silent-wail at the top of her lungs in a cataclysmic surrender. Spouses who’ve been around for over twenty years can sometimes have you throwing your hands up in futility. Things will never change.

And they probably won’t — which is the point.

Why give credence to a wallowing Stegosaurus when we can saddle up on a dopey Diplodocus and have a little fun? If this is as good as it gets — which long-term marriages eventually figure out — our best option is to laugh when we can.

Back in my kitchen, my husband took the bait and participated in my joke.

I wish I could tell you I’m an expert in marriage because then you’d have someone to tell you exactly what to do. I’m only a Velociraptor whose visage has shifted in marital rhythm from wrap-around grin to clenched-jaw frown, to giggle cheeks, pout eyes, stunned eyebrows, and sagging sad little droop face since my wedding in 1995. This qualifies me to assert that marriage is not a project of perfection, but it does keep you on your toes.

As far as I know, dinosaurs didn’t get married. It’s hard to imagine two Brachiosauruses standing over their 50th wedding anniversary cake, their heads nuzzling thirty feet from the ground, and cheers from the other reptile guests filling the forest. For one, there were no wedding caterers back then, or wedding planners. Vera Wang's wedding dresses hadn’t even been born yet.

But today, humans with Jurassic-sized hearts partner and begin down the path of what initially seems like a good idea, until one day it all comes into question. Some make it past this point, others don’t. That’s par for life. Either way, we all end up noticing that this little life project was never meant to be in beautiful working order all the time. It grows rusty. It loses its voice. It costs more than you had planned for. It takes your chair right out from under you.

But it also makes you smile sometimes. Capitalize on that.

Here I educate my husband on the Geologic Time Scale.

My husband has been having a hard time trying to find calm amidst family conflict. It takes a toll on him when paired with a demanding career load. He walks into the kitchen more reptile than fuzzy housemate sometimes. Then I become T-Rex. Or Pterodactyl. We swish our tails. We chomp words in one bite. We look down at the two of us and wonder what this is. What are we doing? Who are we?

Is this how it’s supposed to be?

After twenty-five years of this, I have an inkling, but not the perspective of that Brachiosaurus couple. Fifty years is an eternity — plenty of time to answer those questions. I have a suspicion it’s supposed to be a little of everything — appreciation, disappointment, gratitude, sadness, devastation, anger, ease, and humor. That’s because each partner is, if anything, standing next to the other on the daily. Why wouldn’t the scope of life sit between you?

I let my husband have the last laugh because of his deep knowledge of the Jurassic Period.

I don’t have answers for tomorrow, nor too much insight from yesterday other than to say that life, death, hope, disappointment — they’ve been around for eons. Instead, I’d like to thank all the dinosaurs who’ve come before me for the free humor they offer every time I remember to look for it.

Hope you're well, friends. :-)