There is a terrible joke, which I first heard from my mother in law. (I am assuming there is no hidden information in her telling this joke. Please don't tell me I am wrong.) It goes like this:

A man and his wife are out at dinner, when an acquaintance enters the restaurant with a gorgeous young woman on his arm, who is most definitely NOT his wife.

"That's just disgusting," says the woman. "Just who is she anyway?"
"Oh, her?" says the man. "That's his mistress."
"What?!?!"
"Oh sure," he says calmly. "Most of the successful men I know have a mistress. I have one too."
"You do?"
"Of course. In fact," he points across the room at a stunning woman at the bar, "there she is."
"Oh." She lets this fact sink in a moment, then leans across the table and whispers "Ours is prettier."

Which is what it is like to be married to a man who has a wooden boat. He is walking around with a glow of happiness, which is slightly tempered with some guilt for having such a mistress. Around here, we call her "L.C."--which is not just the initials of Lady Cliff, but is a reference to a Monty Python sketch where Michael Palin is caught with a scantily clad woman, and attempts to pass her off as "your Grace."

To which she replies "I'm not your Grace. I'm your Elsie."

But it is so wonderful to see Mr. Sweetie being so darn happy. Really, every little thing about this boat makes him happy. L.C. was pulled from the water for the season this week, and Mr. Sweetie went down to do some winterizing. He found himself scooping out slimy water from the bilge, just so excited and happy to have a boat with a bilge to clean. It's like every flaw and inconvenience is just another adorable quirk for him to love.

I'd be more jealous, but since that's how he treats me, I can't complain.