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Well, I'll say THIS about being married forever: You've had plenty of time to observe one another in action, which entitles you to make certain observations.

Take the conversation my husband and I had earlier this week, for example.

ME: We need to leave in 30 minutes.

HIM: I know.

ME [After biting my tongue for a nanosecond]: Well, if you know we need to leave in 30 minutes, then why aren't you getting ready?

HIM: Don't worry. I'll be ready in time.

ME: No. No you won't.

HIM [Mildly surprised]: Why would you say that?

ME: Um. Maybe because you and I have lived together since dinosaurs roamed the Earth? [This gave my husband pause. Both of us tend to respond with momentary shock these days when we remember that we are as old as rocks now.]

ME [Resuming our argument]: Here's the thing. You're not so great with the time thing. You always think you can do ONE MORE CHORE before we leave. Like paint the house or something. I, on the other hand, am excellent with time. Along with parallel parking, it's one of my superpowers.

HIM [Under his breath]: You aren't as good with time as you think you are.

ME: Wait. What did you just say?

HIM [Not under his breath]: Nothing.

But I heard. Oh, yes. I totally heard. Even though I have a hard time hearing now — especially out of my left ear. So I began to marshal my facts. Wasn't I always on time to everything when we were in high school? Classes? Practices? Didn't teachers praise me for always being on time? In fact, didn't the drill-team adviser once tell my parents that she appreciated how punctual I always was?

I'm pretty sure that drill-team advisers weren't saying the same thing to his parents about my husband. Possibly because he wasn't on the drill team. BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT.

The point is that I was always good with time. I was pure genius at estimating how long it would take to do something or how long it would take to get somewhere, especially if I didn't run into parked cars on University Avenue.

I'm still that way. Aren't I?

I began thinking about something my friend Gigi Ballif Arrington (she's the one who took out a tree on the driving range at Provo High School FYI) said as we were walking in Liberty Park the other morning.

"I've always thought of myself as being physically active," she said.

I nodded, because I think of her that way, too. Gigi danced professionally with Ririe-Woodbury for many years, which, in my book, totally qualifies you as being "active."

"But then I realized I wasn't anymore," Gigi went on.

She'd been sidelined with injuries, and the reality was that she'd become sedentary. So here's what Gigi did. She started walking in the mornings. And playing pickleball, which is a sport I don't really understand, although I assume pickles are involved. And now she's active again.

So I took an honest look at myself and acknowledged how I'm often a little late to work. Or a lunch date. Or an appointment. I'm never hugely late. But still. Is this what my husband was referring to when he said I'm not as good with time as I think I am?

So, OK. Those moments when we realize there's a disconnect between self-image and actual behavior are always unsettling. But I will say this: They provide us with an opportunity to accept. Or change.

Happy birthday, Gigi. And thank you, too. As always, you inspire.

Ann Cannon can be reached at acannon@sltrib.com or facebook.com/anncannontrib.