Eleven years ago, I piled myself into my boyfriend’s car and we set off on an eleven-hour journey to Vegas to get married.
I did not know then that his little weird food quirk would become an immoveable wall of OCD. He did not know that my little book of worries would grow to need a massive library complete with revolving doors to accommodate my substantial check out rate.
At the time marriage - for both of us - was going to be the illusion that Hollywood had presented. We were signing up for the pretty shiny happy version where no one ever farts or fights about money. Despite our age and the tragic experiences our friends and family had gone though, we were both a bit startled by the nitty gritty reality that marriage really was/is.
We were also surprised and continue to be surprised at how funny it can be to share a space, a life with someone. And not just because of the farts.
On our bad days, when everything he does irritates the skin off me and every word I say is nails on a chalkboard to him, we still manage to keep on keeping on. On our good days, we can even make ourselves sick with our smug self-satisfaction about how awesome we are.
Eleven years ago tomorrow, we got married by this guy in a drive-thru in Vegas.
I’d do it all over again. Because apparently Husband, with his OCD and all his issues, is my perfect match. And I, with my wacky rotating box of crazy, am his. Happy ELEVEN, Husband!
Because it is ELEVEN and he's Scottish and this is pretty much what a fight in our house looks like, I'm watching THIS and you should too.
And, while we're celebrating successes, a happy SEVENTY-FIFTH to my favorite reader, Val!!! I’ll toast a drink – or two – to you tonight and tell stories of Tori in Target to strangers to make you laugh! Hope it's a good one!!!
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me