On Being a Minister’s Wife

I have begun November Novel in a Month as a memoir of my life with my husband, a minister. This is how it begins.

The first thing you need to know is that I didn’t “want” to be a minister’s wife. Back in Fredonia, sixty years ago, my roommate and our roommate neighbors sat around one evening talking about who we would marry.
The four of us sat and lounged on the two single beds in our room. The neatest thing we did every day was to make our beds. Char and I had been brought up making our beds as part of our daily routine to prepare for the day. In the rest of the room books were piled on desks, violin cases lay here or there, closet doors stood open. Neat, we weren’t.
As often happened when we were twenty, our conversation turned to men. We had dated various classmates. I was serious about Don, whose baritone voice had captured me. He had graduated two years before me and now taught in Corning.
Char said, “I’d like to marry a minister with large brown “cow eyes.”
Dorie said, “Yes, I think being married to a minister would be fun.”
Fern said, “I could play the organ and piano. We would be like partners.”
Once the other three agreed they would like to marry a minister. I said, “I never want to marry a minister.”
“I’ve known minister’s wives and they don’t have an easy life.”
I didn’t marry a minister. I married a sailor in the United States Navy. He just turned out to be one after eight years of marriage. What could I do?

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