Today is my 31st Anniversary with Current Husband.
A girl named Dippy walks into a bar…
…called Welch Avenue Station in Ames, Iowa, on August 1, 1991. She has her kind of nuts roommate, Julie the Single, in tow and sees a couple of frat guys she knows playing pool. Dippy introduces Julie to Future Husband (FH).
I remember it like it was 1991.
I could tell he was special by the way he held his plastic cup of domestic beer and a Marlboro Light in one hand and his pool cue in the other. As he blew a smoke ring I thought, “My dad will hate this guy. He’s perfect.” I took a drink of my beer and decided to approach him.
“You have a receding hairline like my last boyfriend.”
Yeah. That’s how I lure them in. They’re like flies to honey. I’m sure he was thinking, “Yes, I want this woman to bear my children” instead of…
“Okay. Whatever. Move, it’s my shot.”
Yes. He’s perfect. He finished his game (he won) and the guys left the bar.
The next night, Dippy and I took our change jars out for Dime Draws (1991 was a dreamy time) and we saw the guys again. I needed to play hard to get with this one, so I approached him again and said,
“Just because I said you look like my ex doesn’t mean I like you.”
He looked at me, annoyed, and said, “Neat.”
YASSS. It was on like Donkey Kong. We parted ways.
On the THIRD night Dippy and I went to a party at his fraternity, and of course we ended up making out. A few nights later, he asked me to go out for dinner and that’s when Dippy got concerned.
“Geez, don’t go and marry him. He’s not marriage material.”
And that pretty much clinched it, Dippy. Tell me it’s a bad idea and I’m ALL IN.
We ended up dating. We got engaged when I needed a star for the top of our Christmas tree in 1994 and he said, “Wait, I have something!” and ran back to our room (living in sin, standard operating procedure) and I yelled, “I don’t want your stupid Dallas Cowboys hat!” He came out with a ring and stared at me.
“Well…Do you want to ask me something?”
We got married on a hot August day and had a blast with our friends and family. Then shit got real. I was pregnant by our first anniversary, and we had three amazing kids and one heartbreaking miscarriage. Neither of us was content to do anything normal - we tried on different careers, different houses, different towns. We had some yellow labs and then switched to Standard Poodles around Year 11.
We hit a rough patch from around Year 10 through Year 20.
Like most things in life, it wasn’t black or white. We still had fun, we still had our awesome kids, but we were on the same planet, living in different worlds. We never REALLY talked about divorce, but I’m not saying no one thought about it. He wrote a note to me in an anniversary card around Year 15 that said, “I love you honey, everything will be okay.” I kept that note, and a few years ago got it as a tattoo because I want the people who work at my nursing home to be uncomfortable.
I’m REALLY glad it worked out.
Because who else knows ALL of my secrets and carries my emotional baggage with me? Who else really cares about stuff our kids do? Who else laughs at my weird and inappropriate jokes? Who else asks me about my therapy appointment and tolerates my farting? WHO ELSE KNOWS EXACTLY HOW TO MAKE MY BEIGE COFFEE?
So here’s a toast to CH. They say the traditional anniversary gift for 31 years is a timepiece to symbolize the precious time spent together, but I think I’ll get him a toilet plunger instead. It can symbolize how we got through all the crap and kept things running.
We’re still having fun, CH, and you’re still the one.
(clinks glass)
Until Whoreticulture Friday, Gentle Wifers.