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"I really thought I knew my husband. After 16 years of marriage, I thought I knew everything there is to know about him. And now... this. The other day, he asked our son if he wanted a cookie with &amp;quot;jimmies&amp;quot; on them. &amp;quot;Jimmies?&amp;quot; Where are we? Philadelphia? No, we&amp;#039;re not \u2013 but I&amp;#039;m beginning to wonder where my husband is coming from. Here in North Jersey, we call those colorful candies you find on cookies and ice cream &amp;quot;sprinkles.&amp;quot; We most certainly do not call them &amp;quot;jimmies,&amp;quot; a word generally reserved for people from South Jersey. If you ordered &amp;quot;jimmies&amp;quot; on your banana split in North Jersey, it would be like asking for fries in a fish and chips shop in London or demanding a soda instead of pop in Seattle. It&amp;#039;s all wrong. Not that people from South Jersey are all wrong. But even they will tell you that North Jersey, the gateway to New York City, is very different from South Jersey, the portal to Philadelphia and the Garden State&amp;#039;s summertime playground with all its beautiful shoreline. In fact, when we vacation &amp;quot;down the shore&amp;quot; in the summer, the ice cream store signs offer &amp;quot;jimmies&amp;quot; for an extra 25 cents. But we never order jimmies. We are North Jersey folks. We eat sprinkles. Until the other day, that is. I have never before heard my husband use the word &amp;quot;jimmies,&amp;quot; except perhaps to say, &amp;quot;He jimmies the door open,&amp;quot; or &amp;quot;Jimmy&amp;#039;s coming to the movies with us.&amp;quot; Jimmies are not on our cookies. Sprinkles are. What has gotten into my husband? After 18 years together, 16 under the same roof, I can predict what he&amp;#039;ll do and I know what he likes. He likes running, cooking and good wine. He likes to ski, play ball with the boys and watch &amp;quot;MythBusters&amp;quot; on TV. He sets the radio so low I can barely hear it, and he skims the entire newspaper faster than it takes me to read one article. I know all this, and I love him for it. I know him so well, I can finish his sentences. Or, can I? My husband eats jimmies. I eat sprinkles. And though this is shocking to me, it is at least a sign that the next 16 years might bring surprises that will spice up our marriage. We still have things to learn about each other, and that&amp;#039;s alright. Thanks to the jimmies, er, the sprinkles, I love my husband even more, no matter where he&amp;#039;s coming from. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a2211/good-grief-011708/?src=shelter_footer>