Never light a cigarette at a gas station, lest you should ignite the few drops of gasoline that have spilled en route from tank to pump, or the gallons that have choked unstoppably forth from the nozzle when some yuppie idiot girl on her iPhone pulls it from her car before it’s done pumping and without making sure the nozzle lock is off — and as she stands there, unable to figure out how to make it stop, looking around idiotically for help, the highly flammable liquid spews and splatters all over everything (her car, her yoga pants, her knit Ugg boots, and yes, the ground), and her fluffy little dog leans out the window and sneezes in protest at the chemical smell, as if trying to tell the idiot girl to just shut the damn thing off already — before, finally, the gas station attendant comes rushing out to help, and they both proceed to wipe out on the little lake of gas that has formed and is, surprisingly enough, quite slippery.

And never use your cell phone while operating a gas pump, lest you should be that very girl.

Now, does anyone know how to get the smell of gasoline out of my boots? They’ve already been through my washing machine twice …

Several months ago, Ben and Abbie had their first “for better or for worse” moment: they decided to run a marathon together.

They started out strong, running together six days a week along the lake shore, past their new condo and the grassy spot where they got engaged, nothing between them but the Chicago summer sunshine and a gigantic yellow lab.

Of course, life eventually got in the way – as it always does. Abbie’s responsibilities as Dimmer Queen of the World kept her out of town for days at a time, and Ben was spending more and more time in the lab, playing with worms under the auspices of finding a cure for cancer.

Then, Ben injured himself. He claims he hurt his knee trying to keep up with Abbie’s high school track-star pace, but the physician in him knows the truth: after one too many sleepless nights studying at Starbucks North & Wells, his leg muscles had finally atrophied.

It looked like Ben wasn’t going to be able to run the marathon after all.

But on the morning of the Chicago Distance Classic, he was up with the sun (like he is every day), pumping himself full of coffee (like he always does) and lacing up his running shoes (which were still brand new and in the box). Ben knew how important it was to Abbie that they run this race together, and that alone made it important to him.

So he ran with her.

He ran with her when the gun went off and thousands of people swarmed through the gates. He ran with her along the lake front, where they had begun their training, and he ran with her as the course grew unfamiliar. He ran with her when his knee began to ache, refusing her offers to stop to rest and rehydrate.

And when he could run no more, Ben did what he always did: he urged Abbie ahead.

This is a guy who manages to succeed in everything he tries — a talented student, scientist, singer, photographer, even drummer. You kind of want to hate him, but here’s the thing: he has absolutely no ego about it.

When it comes to Abbie, on the other hand, Ben has an undying confidence in her ability and insists that she follow her dreams. Like the time Abbie casually mentioned to Ben that she was thinking about getting her MBA –- and suddenly, business school catalogs mysteriously began to arrive in the mail.

For her part, Abbie is incredibly strong and independent. She’s out of town all the time, and she rarely whines about having a husband who spends 95 percent of his time in the lab. 

Ben and Abbie are both completely fine on their own. But here’s the remarkable part: after they’ve been apart for any appreciable amount of time, you can actually see them light up when are together again. Ben and Abbie love to be together, not because they need each other, but because they love each other. And that’s amazing, after ten years together — to still light up like that.

Anyway, Abbie ran ahead, determined to finish the race not just for herself, but for the both of them. She ran strong and fast, on the heels of the Ethiopians and the gazelles, and I swear to you that she was barely sweating.

When Abbie crossed the finish line, she kept on running. She looped back around the crowds, past Museum Park and back on the course, against the current of other runners. She ran until she found Ben, hobbling pathetically along the course.

All they had to do is look at each other, and they just lit up. And they knew they could carry on.

They ran together those last few miles, laughing and entertaining each other with their usual silliness and stupidity, the way only best friends can.

When they reached the home stretch, Ben and Abbie fell into step with each other. They were holding hands when they crossed the finish line.

Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs.! Have a great time in Maui! And Ben, stop reading my blog on your honeymoon! That iPhone is so confiscated.