Most marriage therapists agree that the best way to keep the matrimonial bond sturdy is through good communication. No matter life’s scene, whether big or small, when a husband and wife are communicating, longevity and relative joy are the relationship’s promise.

My wife and I are pretty good communicators. At least, I think so. She hasn’t left me yet. I consider that partial proof. Still, we do experience the occasional communication breakdown. But for the most part, excluding pastoral confidentiality, we tell each other everything.

There are times, however, when the openness is, well, teeth-grinding. For example, if I need to step out, I’ll tell her where I’m going and why. Some husbands just hop in the car and go. I don’t do that. I let her know. Doing so comes with risk. In other words, a quick trip to the hardware store can easily become a trip to other stores nearby to retrieve this or that item she wants or needs. Popping in at Walmart for a single something can very easily result in a shopping cart of groceries. If she is distracted, and I do manage to get into the car and drive away without an additional list, there is the inevitable text message that delivers it during checkout. It’s then I must decide just how good of a communicator I want to be.

Shall I answer the message? Shall I pretend I didn’t see it?

The answer is always the former rather than the latter. I reply to the message, and then I venture back into the labyrinthian aisleways to retrieve and purchase whatever she needs. Why? First, because I love her. I’d drive two hundred miles to get something if she asked for it. Second, she’s trying to maintain a household, and she knows far more about the family’s particulars than I do. Whatever’s on the list is probably essential. Third, if I did the same thing to her, she’d help me. Fourth, as I said at the beginning, the best way to keep the matrimonial bond sturdy is through good communication.

Relative to a happily married man’s errand—the typicality of seeking one thing only to return with far more than anticipated—Benriach’s “The Smoky Ten” is a nuptial allegory in a bottle. The nose is, of course, lightly smoky and by no means overwhelming. It’s more aura that attribute. I didn’t expect this. I sought smoke’s distinction but returned with so much more,  including singed fruits, melted butter, and cookie batter.

A sip put lightly peppered pears into the smoky basket. A second sip emerged in the breakfast cereal aisle, forecasting honey-sweetened barley in a toasted oak bowl. Somewhat medium, the finish completes the forecast, all things held together by the nose’s aura. If only every whisky errand could be this way.

I forgot to mention the upside to the outings I previously described. One might think that the longer the texted shopping list is, the poorer it is received, especially since the trip’s original intent was to be swift. Not so. The more items I gather, the higher the expense and the easier it is to slip a mid-ranged whisky like “The Smoky Ten” into the receipt’s scrolling drudgery without being noticed.

With that, let me clarify: I tell my wife almost everything.