Friday, July 5, 2013

How to Celebrate a Four Year Anniversary

"So now you have a hat to match the boat. That's what anniversaries are for."

Afternoon Readers,

I must tell you of our adventures. Please sit.

Act I.

When the morning of our anniversary dawned, I couldn't wait to forget to call Husband because the children all needed to be fed or extracted from a cabinet. So I did just that. Delayed gratification smatification.

Days of romantic import should always begin with a volley of sweet words, delivered after Fruit Loops have been sanded off tables.

"Hello," I purred into the phone. "Happy anniversary."

"I was going to say that."

"But I beat you to it."

"I've gotta get back to work. Remember to feed the dog."

I nodded. "I'll feed the dog, just as your poetry has fed my soul and given me sustenance to make it through this day."

Act II. The Dress

Just kidding. There was no dress, or make up, or fancy shoes, but oh that t-shirt and shorts stayed just clean enough to convince the people at the ball park to let me through the general admission gate.

"Will you be staying long?" They inquired.

My laugh was musical yet tempered by, what was thought to be, a possible ear infection. "Until my purse is full of free jalapenos and this handsome devil runs out of things to talk my ear off about."

Act III. The Food

Husband motioned to the paper tray. "Would you like some of this Sheboygan?"

I coyly hid my muffin top under the counter we were leaning against. "Yes, my love. And you may have some of my chili cheese fries. But not too much. Or maybe just one. Without any chili or cheese on it."

Act IV. Witty Banter

"You'll need to change seats with me so I have a better chance at catching a ball. We're only three rows back you know."

"While you were in the bathroom, a ball landed right next to my foot, so I gave it to that little boy over there."

Act V.

Provided by this lady. She's sporting a sombrero covered with jewelry and other things she's been collecting for the last twenty-one years. She declared both Husband and I, "babies." True.

Act VI. Negotiations

I gazed fondly at the scoreboard. "Due to delay of game, this won't start until 9:30, so that puts our departure time at, roughly, 2am. I guess we're leaving."

"I think we're staying. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Being fulfilled by the seven cups of coffee I'm drinking. If you're happening to get an ulcer, what does that feel like? Pure haberdashery is what I'm thinking."

Act VII.

I might as well use the final act to assure all of you that driving home at two in the morning while full of sixteen-dollars-worth of stadium coffee is the the equivalent of letting a hyena snort two tons of Pixie Sticks and convincing it to take a crack at operating a bulldozer, using only it's feet.

The hyena also got up with the children at 7am, so she's feeling veeery optomostic about this fifth year of marriage.

As long as no one touches her cheese fries.

Until Next Time, Readers!