XI
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I’m going to abuse the powers of this public forum for one day. I’m going to make a personal post that has nothing in the world to do with being funny or talking about the city or current events or anything at all that anyone outside of my little world might care about. Don’t worry. Things will return to normal after this. Just permit me this one indulgence.
Today is my husband and my eleventh anniversary. Not our wedding anniversary, mind you. The other kind. The “so when did you guys start dating” kind. Which is only impressive, I suppose, in that in another four years, I’ll have been with him for more than half my life. (You do the math.)
That information is usually met with open-mouthed stares and uncomfortable shifting in chairs. No one is supposed to still be with their high school sweetheart, particularly not their freshman-year-of-high-school sweetheart. It violates all rules of the universe. The laws of physics and probability don’t allow for it. It’s just, well, weird.
I know. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. Everybody does.
It works for us. It’s always worked. We’re just best friends, that’s all. We’re best friends who wanted the exact same things in our lives. We had the same plans, we valued the same things, we laugh at the same jokes. And when no one was looking, we became partners. Right away. Eleven years ago. We pushed through everything together. It’s easier when you only have to carry half the load, and you can do twice as much. So that’s exactly what we did. Everyday, everything together. And the days added up into years, and then the years started adding up. And before anyone noticed, here we were. Still together, still each carrying half the load. Sometimes when I’m weak, he carries a little more. And sometimes when he’s weak, I carry a little more. But it all works out.
People keep telling me that marriage is hard. I don’t understand that. He makes my life so much easier. And I hope I make his easier, too. I never have to worry about falling down. I know he’ll catch me, and I’ll catch him, too.
So I just wanted to say to him, thank you. Thank you a hundred times over.
I love you.
Today is my husband and my eleventh anniversary. Not our wedding anniversary, mind you. The other kind. The “so when did you guys start dating” kind. Which is only impressive, I suppose, in that in another four years, I’ll have been with him for more than half my life. (You do the math.)
That information is usually met with open-mouthed stares and uncomfortable shifting in chairs. No one is supposed to still be with their high school sweetheart, particularly not their freshman-year-of-high-school sweetheart. It violates all rules of the universe. The laws of physics and probability don’t allow for it. It’s just, well, weird.
I know. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. Everybody does.
It works for us. It’s always worked. We’re just best friends, that’s all. We’re best friends who wanted the exact same things in our lives. We had the same plans, we valued the same things, we laugh at the same jokes. And when no one was looking, we became partners. Right away. Eleven years ago. We pushed through everything together. It’s easier when you only have to carry half the load, and you can do twice as much. So that’s exactly what we did. Everyday, everything together. And the days added up into years, and then the years started adding up. And before anyone noticed, here we were. Still together, still each carrying half the load. Sometimes when I’m weak, he carries a little more. And sometimes when he’s weak, I carry a little more. But it all works out.
People keep telling me that marriage is hard. I don’t understand that. He makes my life so much easier. And I hope I make his easier, too. I never have to worry about falling down. I know he’ll catch me, and I’ll catch him, too.
So I just wanted to say to him, thank you. Thank you a hundred times over.
I love you.
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