Little Shop of Horrors is a strange movie.  'A man-eating plant and Rick Moranis in the same 90 minutes.  Yep, let’s do that.  Ooo, and let’s make it a musical.’ There’s a reason I don’t make movies.  

Either way, my bride wanted to see the musical, so we went.  It was as odd as you would imagine it to be: Man-sized puppets trying to eat man-sized humans in 3/4 time.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the strangest part of the day.  

I, being a thoughtful husband, got her tickets to the pre-show.  That’s right, extra brownie points.  Our tickets got us back stage to see the puppets and talk to those involved in the production.  It’s like when somebody would bump the machine at Showbiz Pizza and extra tickets would spit out.  Winning. Or so I thought.  See, I may have been thoughtful, but I wasn’t thorough in reading the details.  

Turns out, we got the family-friendly show.  And ‘backstage’ meant ‘basement’ and ‘see the puppets’ meant ‘make your own…with your child.’  So we went. My grown wife and I. We were committed.  I mean the little girl in pigtails told me which glue gun had been pre-assigned to me.  My wife loved it.  More specifically, she loved watching me squirm and take direction from a seven-year-old girl.  She loved watching me cut felt with safety scissors and burn my hand on the glue gun.  She especially loved watching me walk back into one of the nation’s premier theaters carrying a puppet on each hand.  

These are the stories of marriage: well intentioned attempts at loving, clumsily executed.  

So we’re back in the same theater 15 years later to see a show (a quite different show, I feel compelled to defend).  We had both had a really hard week and frankly, neither of us really wanted to be there.  We were financially committed and a sitter was in hand so we went.  We sat in the balcony trying to untangle the week, letting the crushed velvet seats carry the weight of our burdens.  As I was scanning the building, attempting to distract myself from the drama in my head and the hurt in my heart, I noticed the secret door stage left that led me to a seven-year old girl and a lesson in humility.  I chuckled and placed my hand on top of my bride's.  Without looking, she reflexively held mine, just like we’ve done for 15 years.  

This is marriage: committing to love one another in humility and in distress, for arts and for crafts, in puppets and in orchestras.  I do.