13 Years of Happiness

Today is thirteen years since the day that I made Husbandrinka the happiest person alive by marrying him. Well, I mean the happiest person with the very huge exception of my parents, of course, although perhaps they were more relieved than happy. It’s hard to say. Their screams of THANK GOD, and FINALLY THE GOOD LORD HEARD OUR PRAYERS made it difficult to pinpoint their exact mood.

Our wedding was fantastic.

It was at the United Nations chapel and we were married by a judge. Because Husbandrinka thought that his Bible-loving family would appreciate a benediction, we also asked a minister to administer what we had hoped to be a “low-key blessing.” You know something along the lines of “bless you all, peace on earth, let’s all drink some of this merlo-, I mean, blood of Christ, Amen!” Unfortunately the minister agreed to our instructions as a way of being polite only and then proceeded to do a type of sermon that would have made Jim Bakker blush. I was a little sorry that he didn’t start speaking in tongues.

But no matter.
No amount of godliness could ruin our special day.

Papa walked me down the aisle.
Our vows went off without a hitch, except for the part that I seemed to have suffered a mini-stroke and couldn’t get the “or poorer” part out. And then we had a great party at a place that is now houses EATALY, the super-expensive Italian carbfest. The best thing about it, you know, besides celebrating our love and shit, was that it was right by the Flatiron building, so we got to have our wedding photographs there.

There are moments that I’ll remember forever (or at least until I get dementia, God forbid, tfu, tfu, tfu). Beautiful moments of dancing with my father and grandfather. Of laughing with my in-laws. And of seeing my best high school friend and noticing that Holy Shit, why were her boobs so enormous. Oh, she got a boob job, And she told me that they feel fantastic. And we snuck into the bathroom and I got to feel them. I’m guessing that it’s an acquired taste. And I decided right there and then that I’m never getting fake boobs. It’s really great to start your marriage on the right boob.

But as wonderful as my wedding was, it really paled compared to the marriage.

I know people say that marriage is hard work, but that hasn’t been my experience. And unfortunately, due to my personality, I have to credit Husbandrinka. Because he has been incredibly easy to live with. I don’t want to nauseate you with all his fine qualities, but I will say this: He loves me just the way I am and has never tried to change me. Ever. He has been supportive of everything that I’ve done (although to be fair, I don’t do very much). He has never once cursed at me, or been disrespectful.

He’s probably planning to kill me.

So, happy anniversary to us. I could live a century with this man.

__________________________
UPDATE: I need an immediate divorce. Because mere hours after I wrote this LovingTribute, Husbandrinka sent me an email about a dinner that he had in Paris with some friends, and included this:

Your blog came up and we were looking at it on Adrian’s iPad. I see you are not beyond fabricating entire conversations with
me.

What the fuck?

First of all, Husbandrinka has never, not once before read my blog and I don’t understand why the first time that he does read it have to be in a Parisian restaurant on Adrian’s iPad. Second of all, what the hell? I have never fabricated entire conversations with him or with anyone else.

So, enraged, I called him to ask what he was talking about.
“The one about how I wouldn’t do Phase One of South Beach with you then took off for Paris.”
“Well, did you do Phase One of South Beach with me?”
“No.”
“And where are you now?”
“Paris.”
“A-HA!”
“But the way you wrote it looked like it was verbatim.”
“What because I had quote marks around it?”
“Yes, because of that.”
“Quote marks don’t mean that I’m quoting literally. It’s just to give flavor. See?”
“Yes, I see. Thank you very much for explaining it to me.”
“You’re welcome.”

One year ago ...

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