Today is my wedding anniversary. You ask, What are you doing to celebrate?
What the hell do you think we’re doing?!
Okay, fine, I’ll tell you.
- First dinner. Ken always picks the place. Reservations are at seven and I will complain that it’s not early enough. I like to eat before six because I’m really 58 years old.
- And of course I will have a drink with dinner — maybe two — and I will complain about work, complain about my family, and complain about Republicans. Ken will nod and pretend like he is listening.
- If all goes as planned, dinner will be delicious and I will need to take an Immodium before we leave the restaurant. This won’t stop me from ordering dessert, though. I’m not a communist. I need crème brûlée.
- Then we’ll come home and I will probably fall asleep on the couch while Ken catches up on his email and feeds the cats.
Isn’t that how most married people celebrate their anniversaries? Okay, fine, it might be a little more romantic than that — but the Immodium part is accurate.
And I am not the kind of woman who would write a public, sentimental tribute to my husband. That’s ridiculous — and he never reads this blog so it would be a waste of my time.
I will say that I am married to a pretty awesome guy who deserves a big trophy. Or something else.
If I have any advice for you dudes out there, it’s this.
- Don’t marry a blogger.
You’ve been warned.