In a few months my husband and I will have been married thirteen years. What’s more amazing than the fact I have managed to keep a man legally bound to me that long is the fact we’ve been living together for fifteen, and a couple for seventeen. Which is exactly half the number of years I’ve been alive.
If you had told me Boo was my future husband when I was six years old and visiting his house with my daddy, I’d have likely kicked you in the shins. At that point in time I had no interest in the big lipped blond boy who constantly wore orange and brown striped tee shirts.
Life, she has a sense of humour in a dark and twisted way.
I have been in Boo’s life from the time we were in diapers and his partner for half of my life and yet the man still cannot figure me out.
It’s not like I’m complicated, it’s just I’m rather irrational (I swear it’s charming) and I happen to change my mind a lot.
(Like the time I told him not to bother buying me a wedding ring because I’d never wear it and then two days before our wedding ceremony I wept and whined because he actually listened to me and didn’t buy me a wedding ring. After banging his head against the wall multiple times, he scraped up every bit of cash he could beg, borrow and steal and dragged me to the jewelery store where I happily picked out a tiny diamond solitaire ring.
Two months after the ceremony, he noticed I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring. Yes, I had changed my mind and decided I was right the first time and didn’t want the ring he had busted his bottom to buy for me. Let’s just say he banged his head against the wall again.)
When I tell you I want mustard on sandwich, this is just means I want mustard on my sandwich right now. It doesn’t mean I’m signing a life time contract of wanting mustard on every single sandwich I will ever eat from now to till the end of time.
Sometimes a little Italian dressing on a sandwich is a nice life distraction, you know?
My husband, he bangs his head on a lot of walls. But the one thing I can never, ever fault him for, his the effort he puts in to keeping me happy. He’s constantly trying to keep up with my whims. He, in fact, spoils me even if he misunderstands me half the time.
We married young which means we married one another when neither had a pot to pee in. Literally. Boo came with a dowry of a butter knife, a used shower curtain and a broken telephone. I am not joking. Thank goodness for banks willing to give credit cards to young people in an effort to entrap them into a life time of debt.
Not only did we have two kids before our first wedding anniversary but we had more debt than should be legally allowed. Between the credit card that was racked up to buy things like food and diapers, we both had student loans tied around our necks. We came to the brink of bankruptcy more than once and if it weren’t for our deep sense of lust and devotion, I’m sure we’d have divorced due to financial misfortune more than once.
Somehow, through time and a lot of hard work (on Boo’s part, I’m the lazy one in this union) we made careful choices to slowly chip away at our debt until where we are today. Not much further ahead but just a few years shy of being mortgage free and the cars we drive are ours and not the bank’s.
Years of surviving on boxed mac and cheese and bruised bananas are slowly fading into the past.
But those lean years, when we had to pick which utility bill to pay each month because we didn’t have enough to pay them all and still feed our family, have permanently scarred us. So much so, that my husband feels it’s his duty to make amends and provide for me everything he couldn’t when we younger.
He’s sweet, if not a wee misguided. I’ll keep him though.
The past few years, despite being married to me half his life and observing my tastes and preferences, he keeps surprising me with bling.
A lot of bling.
I’m not exactly a bling-y type of gal. If the tattoos don’t advertise that, surely the nipple rings would. You’d think.
The problem with the bling he buys, well, it’s expensive. Sure it’s pretty, but not only will I not wear it, but if I do, I’m likely to either bash it into pieces as I garden or scrub toilets or I’m likely to lose it.
Evidence of Boo’s thoughtfulness over the course of the years and my inability to respect anything sparkly:
A Christmas gift he carefully purchased after tucking away money for almost a year. My tennis bracelet.Which I loved so much I refused to take off until the diamonds started to fall out of it. Whoops. I may or may not have broken the clasp on it too.