As of this week, I have been married to Husband for 731 weeks.
For those of you who can’t be arsed with either the math or hunting up the handy website that does all the work for you, this means we’ve been married for 14 years.
Species that mate for life would look on this union in awe.
Since I am now officially the world expert in marriage (in addition to my duties as The Harbinger of The Christmas Spirit) I thought I might show you just the briefest snapshot of exactly what it takes to keep a marriage going longer than Futurama.* This is the sort of inside access you can only get by reading this blog religiously.
Or, you know, peering in our bedroom window at night.**
ME: (taps his wrist)
HIM: (extends finger, moves s l o w l y as to boop my nose)
ME: (bites finger)
HIM: (boops with thumb)
ME: (gasps, releasing finger)
ME: (wide-eyed) How did you even?
HIM: With my thumb (demonstrates)
ME: (smiles, cuddles) I’m glad I amuse you.
ME: Oh my god, I’m your cat toy!
HIM: We could get you a bell.
ME: I have bells! (turns toward jewelry box)
HIM: (laughs) I know.
* Too soon? Too soon.
** Incidentally, if that’s you: could you bring your own stepstool next time? I’m not trying to say you’re fat, but you’re denting our trash bin.