I’m supposed to give my wife something wooden this year, as we are celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary. As I neglected to follow the rules and get paper for the first anniversary, cotton on our second, leather on our third*, or fruit/flowers on our fourth, I think she’ll forgive me for not procuring something whittled out of an oak tree this year, or God forbid, whittling it myself.
We’ve never been ones to do what was supposed to be done, though. Both before we met and after, we’ve (and she may deny this a little more than I would) both been pretty good about not doing something simply because it was the accepted way to do it.
I abandoned law school for a quiet job** and time to write; she returned to college after a five year gap to finish her degree. Had either of us become a lawyer or just made do with the job we had, we likely never would have met.
She ensorcelled me quickly, pretty much from the moment that she made reference to both Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989) and Back to the Future (1985) in the span of one conversation. Now, keep in mind, this wasn’t a pre-formatted confab on the wonders of 1980s time travel comedies. Her mind just went there over the course of a half hour conversation. That’s right; there are two of us.
While I hesitate to speak for her, I’m willing to bet that somewhere between my sporting a mid-90s Jonathan Frakes vibe*** and questioning why she thought she was able to park in the handicapped spot, she may have started to think I was probably an okay guy. Please don’t dissuade her of that notion. Left to my own devices, our house would both flood and catch on fire in the same instant****.
We are a team. Scratch that. I’m on her team. I want her career to take off and for her to make more money than me not because it means I can take it easy for a few years*****, but because she always wants to do more than what she is doing right now. If she wants it, I want it. Even if that means watching Empire Records (1995) and I don’t quite understand how a rational person would ever want to do such a thing.
Together, we are an unstoppable force. If you come up against us… You. Will. Lose. Also, we’ll make fun of you for trying. And here’s a little secret for you: She’s funnier than I am.
Part of the traditional wedding vows include “forsaking all others,” and I don’t think many people give that clause the consideration it's due. Marriage really isn’t that hard if you’ve got your priorities in order, and sometimes that means everybody else can go to hell. Dear Reader, you are very important to me, but if you went away tomorrow, I’d still write, and she’d still be there for me. What’s more, if she ever asked me to stop writing altogether, I’d do it******.
Have a different view on the whole marriage thing? Do your six separate times down the aisle give you far more experience than my scant one try? Let me know in the comments. In the mean time, I’ll spare the rest of you the mushy details of our fifth anniversary coming up on the twenty-ninth, except to say: I love you, semicolon, and if it’s really important to you, I’ll take up whittling.
*Cotton? Leather? Somebody is just making these up. The anniversary gifts are starting to sound like the rider of an insane rock star. For our seventh anniversary, I have to get Lora 713 blue M&Ms in a turquoise jar, or apparently its grounds for divorce.
**I’m still waiting for that part to come true. Ever. So. Patiently. Waiting.
***Known in other circles as a grin and a beard.
****Our house has such poor ventilation, that the Tulsa Fire Department has deemed our house “98% Backdraft.” Don’t look it up.
*****It’s also because of that.
******Although, saying that is pretty easy, because I know she would never ask.