Today is my ten-year wedding anniversary. Okay, our ten-year wedding anniversary. This post was supposed to be a funny take on wedding vows—re-dewing them, instead of simply renewing them. I’d wanted to amend them with updates about fantasy football/baseball restrictions, limiting the Hubs’s Xbox time, nagging only on days with an “s” in them.
But then the Beast got sick, really sick, and then we had an earthquake, and a hurricane is on its way. Surely there’s a zombie apocalypse on deck. In other words, life interrupted my plans. And I’m too tired and flummoxed to think clearly, let alone type new and improved vows. Then it occurs to me that the ones I made on a beach ten years ago today—you know, the for-better-for-worse-in-sickness-in-health-yada-yada-yada -part-when-we-die ones—were still in effect.
On the outside, it might look like the Hubs and I are mismatched: He’s a jock who thinks Monday Night Football is the first and only reality television show; I’m a geek who’s in the middle of diagraming the sixth season of Doctor Who. He’s a native New Yorker who holds his cards close to the vest and I’m the Minnesota girl who thinks everyone is telling me the truth, even when they lie. He lets his troubles roll off his back; I’m hanging onto resentments from when I was six.
Call ours a mixed marriage—jock and geek, introvert and extrovert, rock and roll. Whatever our secret is—we’re still not sure—it seems to work. The way I see it, marriage is really just asking a series of questions: What do you want to eat? Did you pick up the dry cleaning? You’re wearing that? The rest of it is about running errands. Or going to Costco, in our case.
Ten years is a fantastic milestone by any standard. I would not trade one single year with the Hubs. And, even though my hopes for having a blowout party to celebrate our decade together got waylaid by a sick dog and Mother Nature, I’m happy to spend it with my partner, my love, the guy who said “I do” all those years ago. I just have one question:
What are we doing about dinner?