Monday, February 9, 2009


Happy Birthday to my husband today, whose age I will not mention out of kindness, except to say that his is older than me, and so therefore, old. Just kidding. No one would ever guess his real age looking at him.

We met, as I say, at a seedy bar 9 years ago we he rescued me from a random guy who was regaling me with stories of his, no joke, aspiring BMX racing career. At the end of the evening, he left with his friends, and I though, well, there goes that, since he didn’t ask for my number. But a few minutes later, he came back and gave me his card. His CARD. And still, I agreed to go out with him (some time later, he had to pay for the card thing).

We had been dating for about 6 months when he took me to a party some of his long-time friends threw. He introduced me as His Good Friend. Seriously. And still, I went out with him. (I needed a ride home. And he continues to pay for that Good Friend label to this day.)

A few months later, we took a trip to Orlando together. Anyone who knew me at the time would probably have been shocked that I did that – travel with a BOY, who was NOT my HUSBAND – but it never occurred to me not to. It seemed natural and was effortless really. We went to a theme comedy club one evening where there were dozens of exotic masks on the walls. One of the actors roaming around singled us out and asked if we were dating and how long. He then told us the mask above our heads was the mask of Put Up or Shut Up, or so to speak. I spent the rest of the evening trying to convince him that I was by no means hunting for a proposal and was just fine with Things the Way They Were. The next day, he gave me a ring. I don’t remember the hour and a half that followed.

He is a very caring husband and has stood by me through more medical drama than I ever thought I would endure at this point. He might be more stingy with the foot rubs these days, but he makes it obvious every day that he’s in this for the long haul and he’s happy about that. I know he loves me, and every once in a awhile I catch him giving me a look that he doesn’t think I’ve noticed and it makes me weak in the knees. He was born to be a dad, and our kids won the lottery with him. So did I.

Happy Birthday, Hon. You deserve it.

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