18

18 years ago today, I married this guy:

The kid came later. Now, everything in our lives is mostly about her, but I like to think that when she leaves for college (or to join the Hell's Angels or whatever), he and I will still have something good that's just for us.

Some of our daughter's friends have experienced divorce, and she sometimes worries that it will happen to us. "I don't want to live in two different houses," she tells us. As long as I continue to tolerate having thousands of comic books in my basement, and as long as he continues to tolerate the endless parade of foster dogs passing through our home, it's all good. We were together for five years before our wedding; 23 years is a long time to hang out with one person (we've been a couple more than half our lives, which is kind of crazy to think about). It sort of amazes me that we get along so well because, frankly, I can be feisty.

We are not doing anything extravagant for our anniversary. I got him some flip-flops and swim trunks for our beach trip this summer. We went to Home Depot yesterday and I persuaded him to buy me some room-darkening blinds for our bedroom. It's not for me so much as the dogs. They wake me up as soon as they detect daylight, and those dumbasses don't seem to know the difference between weekdays and weekends. So yes, it's an attempt to trick our dogs. I have to install the blinds myself, though. I did not marry a handyman.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. M.



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