Today is my 10-year and one-week anniversary. We have officially been married longer than Tom and Nicole. Also? I have officially outlived Elvis.
(I am very concerned with how my life compares to famous people. For a long time it seemed like my life paralleled Princess Diana, without the growing up rich and marrying royalty part. When she finally got cute hair and was soon after dead? You should have SEEN how nervous I got when I finally liked my hair in 1999.
I was acutely aware of the day when I was married longer than Cher and Greg Allman.
Am I seriously the most self-involved person you have ever known?)
So, here we were, 10 years and one week ago:
Marvin Gardensalad looks four. I should have been arrested for trying to marry him.
Here we were last week, at the same bed and breakfast:
I really didn't mean to cut off Marvin's head when I cropped this. I am a terrible wife. And cropper. I would probably make a terrible sharecropper too.
Anyway. As far back as I can remember, I had sort of a dream man in mind for myself, and Marvin is absolutely, 100% that guy, other than the part where he's not Barry Gibb. Seriously, I used to picture what my ultimate man would be like, from personality to appearance to ability to sit through Woody Allen movies, and if I had met Marvin at seven or 17 or 57, he would be exactly who I was looking for.
Do you know Marvin and I dated in college for three terrible months? Years later, I wrote myself a little essay, probably in response to breaking up with someone or other. It was a reminder of all the qualities I wanted in a mate. I titled it, and I am not even kidding, "My Ideal Man, Other Than Marvin."
Okay, I didn't call him Marvin. (Although I have to tell you, it is getting harder and harder not to call him Marvin when I refer to him at work. Soon they are going to think I'm a polygamist. Or Mrs. Cheaty Pants.)
So, I got lucky. I got Mr. Dreamboat, over here, even though there are some days when I want to stick him in the eye with one of those long forks. You know the kind I mean. Like the kind you use at a barbecue. What are those called? Yeah, one of those forks.
Even though I want to stick him in the eye with a mysteriously named fork you use at a barbecue, I know I did pretty well for myself. And he could have done a lot better.
So, happy 10 year and one week anniversary, Marvin with the Salad and the Garden and the long fork!
That sounded kind of dirty.