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.
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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