At 60, my husband—technically my boyfriend—decided to take me out on a long-awaited date to a cozy little restaurant. I had been pestering him for a while, and finally, we made it happen.

I ordered a simple chicken soup for my soul, while he, being a pure vegetarian, chose pasta. From the beginning, our differences seemed almost insurmountable.

I couldn't go a day without non-veg, and he thrived on his vegetarian diet. I was a night owl, while he greeted the dawn with open arms. Yet, somehow, we made it...