Youtube cover just as long as you love me

#YOUTUBE COVER JUST AS LONG AS YOU LOVE ME HOW TO#

We made hasty dinners and found nothing to talk about over them other than what to watch on Netflix. She was always telling me to do stuff that I never did.

She was depressed and anxious, juggling medications and occasionally stricken by panic attacks. We also realized that we were both unhappy and didn't know why.ДЇor two years, maybe more, I'd spent my mornings failing to write a book proposal, afternoons at my job as an editor surfing the Web, nights crashing early or waiting up jealously for my wife to come home, whole weekends napping on the couch. Last year we realized that we'd lived through more than half of each other's lives. After college, without ever 'dating' exactly, we just started being together, quietly and with a little apprehension. It mostly took the form of constant fights, but the fights sometimes ended in sex. The sexual tension was comically obvious to everyone. For a long time I didn't want to spoil our friendship. She fell in love immediately, she says now, although she didn't tell me so then. I was an absentminded A-minus philosophy major who needed a dose of that kind of realism.

She was a little uptight but had a brutal wit that reminded me of Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday.

#YOUTUBE COVER JUST AS LONG AS YOU LOVE ME HOW TO#

We met and became best friends immediately in the first weeks of college, before I had hair on my chest or knew how to pronounce Chianti, before she had a butt or, in my opinion, knew how to kiss. One unusual thing about my marriage, which may explain some of its weaknesses as well as the odd blossoming that has taken place since it began to fall apart, is how long my wife and I have known each other. Related: Being the First One to Have a Baby I was feeling oddly confident for a man still in love with a wife who, after 18 years together, had suddenly fallen in love with someone else. With the salesman's help, I chose a pair of khakis in my new size, more or less like my old pants but slimmer in the leg, in a lighter fabric, in a shade boldly closer to white than my usual beige. I also couldn't pay our bills do the taxes make a budget schedule appointments with my dermatologist, ophthalmologist, dentist, or barber clean my glasses, fingernails, or ears without being reminded do the dishes or, alternatively, keep my hands off my wife's butt while she did the dishes. I wasn't paralyzed by the terror that no pants would be just right-the same terror that, in other forms, had made it impossible for me to buy gifts for my family or shampoo for myself, to plan a date or vacation, or to decide what to make or order for dinner without calling my wife to ask. Walking into a small shop in Manhattan's NoLIta to talk about pants with a younger, bearded salesman, I didn't experience the familiar fear of being judged for trying on something too cool or expensive for someone like me. The physical changes were surprising, but the changes in my psychology were harder to explain. My whole face looked pleasantly more rugged, maybe from the exercise of crying. I had abdominal muscles for the first time since high school. The obsessive exercise was more a way to stay busy and burn off sorrow and anger than a conscious attempt to get in shape, but I lost 15 pounds, and all of my pants now had enough room in the waist for me and a box turtle.

At the same time, I also began to set personal records for push-ups, sit-ups, and distance running. I started smoking again, which killed what was left of my appetite. That first week, I was mostly too confused to think about food. Almost as soon as I began to understand that my wife was having an affair and was imagining a whole new life for herself, I started to lose weight. Sometimes my wife just threw my pants out and ordered new ones online-in black, so they would be harder to ruin. Before the affair, I'd often worn pants until the cuffs were stringy and the lap was spotted with olive oil from eating salad at my desk I had begun to muffin out of some of them as well. The last time I could remember buying my own pants had been in an emergency, when I discovered a rip in the seat of some raggedy khakis at work. For a functional adult under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be much of an event, but I'd never been able to buy much of anything for myself-and all kinds of everyday actions had recently taken on layers of meaning. Three weeks after my wife told me she was having an affair, I decided to buy a pair of new pants.

Youtube cover just as long as you love me