There's a perfect example of commercial compromise just a few miles from my house. It's called the China Hut Donut Shop. I've never eaten there, but I'm guessing the egg rolls have holes in the middle and an hour after eating one of the donuts you're hungry again.

"A man shall leave his father and his mother and cling to his wife and they shall be one flesh". So it says in the Bible, but it's easier said than done.

Some people say the secret to a happy marriage is money. Some say it's good sex. Others say it's having children. I say it's compromise. Without it a marriage is a cold war, a dictatorship or a monarchy. Of course, if my marriage were a monarchy and John and I were younger versions of Prince Phillip and Queen Elizabeth, I'd have so many hats I'd never have to worry about a bad hair day again - but I digress.

When John and I were first married he thought that giving a little meant giving in. I'd grown up with sisters. I didn't learn how to cook, but I learned how to make concessions. I'm not saying John's mother spoiled him. Obviously not. When he teases, he's as fresh as he ever. It's just that when it came to decisions, being one flesh wasn't his strong point.

Happily, marriage and children have mellowed him. Naming our children was a "together promise". When we lived near his mother, so was raising our children; and when our children were teenagers, life was a constant meeting in the middle.

If spouses don't learn how to meet in the middle, they'll meet in divorce court. If there's something I don't want to do but know I should, I try to meet myself in the middle. I see-saw back and forth with my conscience until I come up with an acceptable solution.

Okay, what I do is bribe myself to do whatever it is. A cup of Starbucks usually works, but compromise would be a lot easier for everyone if it were spelled differently. It has an "I" in it, but it should also have a "U".