An old wives’ tale my momma told me:
if you get your belly wet washing dishes 
you’re bound to marry a drunk. 

This used to matter a lot to me since I always kept 
a wet belly washing dishes and spent years
loving a young man with blue eyes who eventually loved me back but not more than he loved liquor.

My husband and I just finished a bottle of wine
he brought back to me from a work trip to Italy.
I hand-wash our glasses and lean against the counter, watching birds out the kitchen window. 
I sigh and smile and hum, not noticing my wet 
belly till he comes to kiss my neck and offer me
a towel. 

Old wives’ tales don’t matter to new women 
who learned the hard way to love better men.