OCTOBER 2010 - My wife and I will celebrate our 17th wedding anniversary in about a week.
Truth be told, it would probably be our 20th or 25th anniversary if I wasn't such an overanalytical, cold-footed, insecure, obsessive-compulsive, but, hey, that's how I roll. I digress.
On the way home from church last night, my 11-year-old (the girl) asked me how many years her mom and I had been married. When I told her, she responded, "That's a long time!" I agreed, flashed a smile, and, tongue-firmly-in-cheek, added, "But, come on, look at who she married!"
"Yeah," she said with a sigh, "if only you had rock-hard abs." Her deadpan comedy was spot-on, and I busted out laughing, which only encouraged her to expound. "You could also use a spray-on tan and for your hair to be like Jacob's in Twilight... "Then, you could do this:" She struck a pose, cut her eyes over at me and produced a brooding, half-smile worthy of a wolf-boy or whatever that kid is supposed to be.
I'll be 47 years old in a few days. I'm afraid my Team Jacob days are long over (as if they ever existed in the first-place). Luckily for me, my wife is willing to put up with an anal-retentive, aging companion and hasn't put a lot of emphasis on my non-existant six-pack. So, here's to anniversaries. For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. In graying hair, pasty skin and soft bellies, till death do us part.
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