I do not use the word, and the filtering it does for me is remarkable

I do not use the word. Not out of shame and not because there is anything wrong with it, but because every single time I have used it the man opposite me has stopped hearing anything else I said. I tell people I run things. It is accurate, it is dull, and it filters beautifully.

Fifty one, out in the commuter belt, an accountant, married for twenty years to a man who never quite believed I meant it, divorced for six. Two relationships since, the longer of them four years.

What I mean by running things: the diary, the money, the standards in the house, what he does with his weekends, and the tone of the whole arrangement. It is a way of loving somebody rather than an activity we schedule for Fridays. If that sounds less exciting than whatever you had in mind, we agree, and you should write to somebody else with my blessing.

The men who last with me are practical and slightly literal. They want to know what is expected, they do it, they say clearly when they cannot, and they are not waiting on a running commentary about how well they are doing.

Not looking for anyone who needs the vocabulary before he can believe it is real. Not looking for a man who wants to use a title for me in public. Not looking to explain, at fifty one, what any of the words mean. There is an entire internet for that and I am not it.