"Are you sure you love me?" Better Half asked, semi-engrossed in his "Cinder-fella" duties at the kitchen sink.
I was on drying detail because I'm banned from washing dishes - too many times caught red-handed with yellow eggs between the fork tines.
So Better Half washes. I dry.
In marriage, we call that compromise.
And in a marriage that united two sometimes paranoid people as partners - two individuals inclined at times to need romantic reassurance - there are bound to be periods of insecurity.
Hence the question - "Are you sure you love me?"
Before I even had a chance to respond, Better Half was quick to the draw.
"...'Cause if you don't," he offered even toned, almost brightly, "we'll just call it quits right now. No hard feelings."
He waved his hand matter-of-factly in the air for emphasis.
"Of to court we go," he said in a sing-songy kind of way.
"That sounds like a good column waiting to be written," I said.
Better Half nodded.
We resumed our husband and wife dishwashing session, our confidence in our commitment to each other restored by a little chuckle time intermission.
The reality check, however, quickly resumed.
"But you do love me, right?" he asked, scrutinizing a fistful of sparkling silverware he'd just rinsed.
"Of course, I love you," I said. "We're two peas in a pod, two legs on an alligator," I rattled off one of our favorite summations of our relationship, neither of which make any sense, but it doesn't matter. We like it anyway.
"You love me back, don't you?" I posed the question, thinking it couldn't hurt to ask.
There was a brief silence interrupted by the dirty dish water gurgling its way down the drain.
"I mean, you'd marry me again, wouldn't you?" I asked, refining my inquiry.
He looked me square in the eyes and squinted, an indication he was thinking hard. Too hard.
Gee, it's not that tough a question, I thought to myself, expecting a super duper speedy "yes."
Finally he responded.
"Do you mean like renewing our vows?" he asked.
The interpretation surprised me, then intrigued me.
"You mean like A.E.I.O.U 'vowels' or 'I take you and you take me kind of stuff vows?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, "something like that."
"Nah," I said, after giving it some thought.
"We love each other too much for that."
(Kiaski, a resident of Steubenville, is a staff columnist and features writer for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times and community editor for the Herald-Star. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.)