BrightSide and I celebrated our twenty-second anniversary last weekend. Twenty-two years of wedded bliss.
Two decades? Of bliss? Bwahahahaha!
If you’re buying the idea that anyone experiences two decades of blissful existence, regardless of their mate’s utter delightfulness, well then I’ve got an oceanside condo in Kentucky to sell you.
To mark this momentous occasion, though, I figured I’d toss some little nuggets of wisdom out there. Just to see if any of them stick.
In honor of our 22nd, I’m revisiting last year’s anniversary post.
BrightSide, you’re my rock. I will forever be grateful to have you as a partner on this journey.
“Forever Family: do the math
It’s a special day for us. BrightSide and I have been married 21 years today. Twenty-One Years. Yup. That’s a long time. Not as long as our parents have been married, as T-man matter of factly pointed out, but still…”
A beautifully written insight into interracial marriage in America.
“The fact that I am in an interracial relationship isn’t something that I think about a lot. It helps that I am as white-washed as Dan is yellow-washed…But the truth is that Dan will always be white, even when his Mandarin is better than his English. And I will always be Asian, even though my English has always been better than my Mandarin. Since we’ve gotten married, I haven’t really thought that much about being in an interracial marriage, but I have begun to realize what it means to be married to a white guy. When I say white guy, I don’t mean any Caucasian male. I mean white, upper-middle class, American, possibly Jewish guy who was born to a mom who baked and a dad who raked the yard and who had 1.5 siblings.”
"I don't feel very much like Pooh today," said Pooh. "There, there," said Piglet. "I'll bring you tea and honey until you do." - A.A. Milne
You have to admit, crazy or not, we all do things for love. We step way outside our comfort zone when we’re dating, and the more serious things get the more likely we are to do something strange in the name of amore. Shoot, this nutty instinct still kicks in even after you’ve been together for years.
Sometimes the acts are big, sometimes they’re small…and sometimes they just seem downright bizarre.
‘Cuz, you know…love.
BrightSide and I often joke about how men have it so easy when it comes to clothes. There are only about eight basic levels of dress, from tore-up-scrappy to formal wear, whereas women juggle approximately 537 combinations when it comes to fashion choices.
If you want to use the conservative estimate, that is.
I thought I’d factored in all the variables, but recently a thought struck me like lightning out of a clear blue sky: I’d failed to take into account the skivvies.
Well, son of a gun, guess who has a birthday today.
Both kids are wishing it was them ‘cuz, you know, presents, but no such luck…BrightSide won this particular lottery. That’s right, 46 years ago today some doctor smacked my fella’s bottom so he’d take his first breath. (Just kidding. I don’t really know if they smack baby’s bottoms in delivery rooms anymore, but it made for funny imagery so let’s run with it.)
This is one of those moments that can slip sideways so easily. What if BrightSide hadn’t been born in Virginia? Would he still have ended up at UVA? What if he focused on chess or chemistry or becoming an Olympic athlete? Would we have found some other way to meet? Does this whole tapestry that’s become our lives begin in that delivery room?
Whoa, step back, mind spinning.
I guess I ought to send that doctor a thank you note for getting BrightSide safely into the world. I know my world sure wouldn’t be the same without him.
Everybody sing along now…
“You’re older than you’ve ever been.
And now you’re even older.
And now you’re even older.
And now you’re even older.
You’re older than you’ve ever been.
And now you’re even older.
And now you’re older still.”
Happy Birthday, BrightSide!
ps – My bad, but I blew it on remembering to get a separate birthday present. Sorry!! This is why December babies end up resenting their birthdays, I know, and here I am adding fuel to the fire. I love you!
I know this looks like man bashing, and a week before Christmas, too. Guess I’m rolling the dice on coal in my stocking this year.
But damn, y’all, this is funny.
(ps – BrightSide, you totally kick ass, too.)
“Husbands are clueless (gross generalization but I guarantee most of you are nodding your heads). Not because they’re genuinely stupid or anything. They’re just wired differently. It would never occur to my husband to ask for a gift receipt, or to pick up my daughter’s skating costume, or to dress Holden in a decent shirt because it’s picture day. It’s not his fault, really. I’m pretty sure it’s a physiological difference between men and women. But I end up doing like 99% of the shit around here (I’m totally exaggerating, it’s more like 95%) just because lots of stuff occurs to me that never even occurs to him.”
