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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Well, Sometimes, Life Just Happens

Leonard Pitts Jr. Knight-Ridder

I’m here to offer advice to Rex LeGalley.

Not that he asked for it. Heck, the guy won’t even return my calls.

But here’s the advice anyway, Rex, cribbed from one Thomas La Mance, who said: “Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.”

If you’re wondering why I think LeGalley would benefit from that advice, you obviously haven’t heard about his prenuptial agreement with his wife, Teresa. We’re not talking your standard “prenup”; we’re not talking “in the event of divorce, husband gets the Sinatra records, wife takes the houseplants.”

Rather, this is a 16-page, single-spaced, court-filed legal document setting forth in pitiless detail the rules that govern their marriage.

How detailed is it? Well, the document obligates them to: Engage in healthy sex three to five times a week.

Turn off the lights promptly at 11:30 p.m. and awaken at 6:30 a.m. sharp.

Leave nothing on the floor overnight “unless packing for a trip.”

You ain’t heard nothin’ yet. The wacky kids further agree that Teresa will handle all “inside house chores” while Rex is charged with maintaining the outside of the house, including auto and garage. The car’s gas tank must not be allowed to fall below the halfway mark, and when they go in for a fill-up, they agree to use only Chevron Supreme unleaded.

The LeGalleys, of New Mexico, have been married for seven months. For Rex, a 39-year-old communications specialist, this is marriage No. 3. Teresa, a 31-year-old computer engineer, said “I do” once before. Their “prenup,” says Rex, is just a way of obviating the disagreements and pet peeves that traditionally shatter marriages.

Still - would you believe it? - the couple has been criticized by some observers. I bet that’s why Rex won’t return my calls; he probably thinks I want to make fun of him in the newspaper.

OK, so I admit that I picture him as having large concentric circles painted on his backside. But hey, I’m open-minded; I’m willing to be convinced that passion by pact, copulation by contract, is the way to go.

Frankly, I’m intrigued by the notion that it’s possible - or even desirable - to impose that degree of order upon the sprawling mess that is marriage, to say nothing of the even bigger mess that is life.

For me, one of life’s big attractions is that you never know what’ll happen next. And so you live, literally, to learn.

I understand the allure of order - who this side of Oscar Madison doesn’t? But life often is the soul of disorder. That’s when you’re tested; that’s when you’re challenged. And that, perversely, is what makes it fun.

Because living is improvisation, not predictability. Miles, not Mozart.

Unless, I guess, you’re legally LeGalley.

I know the LeGalleys disagree with the notion that they’ve wrung spontaneity from their marriage like juice squeezed from an orange. Indeed, not long ago, they went out and bought each other diamond-studded gold bracelets. Said Teresa, “It was spontaneous, but it was something we had thought about for a long time. Any kind of big purchase we make is planned. It’s just a question of when we’ll do the buying.”

Spontaneous, but planned?!? I know I’m using up a year’s supply of exclamation points and question marks here, but huh!?! In June, my wife and I will have been married 15 years. I’m her second husband; she’s my first and, Lord willing, only wife.

That’s not romance talking; rather, I’m thinking how much I’d hate to have to retrace all the time and work it took to reach the point where we could read each other’s minds and moods.

As any married couple can tell you, it’s not easy, getting the rhythm down. And keeping it.

But I’ve always considered that the soul and art of marriage: love wending its way like glue around pet peeves, odd habits and rough patches to form a seal that creates a new thing greater than the imperfection of its parts.

I don’t know that you can achieve that by contractual fiat.

On the other hand, next time Marilyn keeps me up till 2 a.m. watching “Def Comedy Jam,” I’d love to be able to sue.

xxxx