I know I’m not the only one who has to choke back a warm clump of vomit every time somebody says I married my best friend!
Because, are you really unique for marrying your best friend? Did the rest of us marry assholes? Tramps? Serial killers? Our moms? Let me tell you something: if you want to say the most disingenuous, sad, cliche, patronizing load of horseshit and sound as if you’ve never had a good, hard honest thought all on your own, tell us that you married your best friend.
Oh hey, did I mention on September 17, 2005 I MARRIED MY PRINCE CHARMING?!?!
We honeymooned in the Caribbean.
For our first anniversary we rented a cabin in Brown County, Indiana where we spent the entire weekend drinking vodka in the hot tub.
Now let’s skip ahead four years for the purposes of I don’t have any anniversary photos from those years.
Fifth anniversary! We flew to Germany and spent a week drinking beer and pretending to be German. (Seriously, I look German as fuck. I belong there. People like me there.)
The trip was sort of our last hurrah as non-parents. My husband actually wanted to start trying while we in Germany; I responded with a look of sheer horror at the suggestion that I would willingly spend a whole week in Germany NOT DRINKING on the off chance that I might begin gestating there.
And then there was our sixth, mostly memorable because I was three months from popping the kid and my ass protruded almost as much as my belly. Yet I somehow found enough space in my cluttered and baby-ridden gut to cram a steak and potatoes. We used an Orbitz voucher and shacked up at the Marriot.
This year for our seventh we were going to go out to a fancy Greek kitchen, but what happened was that last week we went to this local burger joint that ended up being kind of shitty. They boasted great burgers and craft beer; what we got was stale buns, dry overcooked meat and nothing but macros on tap. The experience left us feeling so cheated and unfulfilled that we decided a good burger was much more important than dolmathes and lamb. I did have two glasses of wine with dinner. But when you’re having burger joint wine at $4 a glass and it’s only 5:30 because your baby goes to bed at 7:00, you can afford to have two.
Here’s to me and you, HUBZ, and to 70 more years of burgers and wine. ❤ ❤ ❤