...the first blind date of my life showed up at my front door. He had scraggly long hair, a brand-new jacket, and a 10-year-old Mustang. We went out for Mexican food and then played pinball with my brother. He gave me one of those mumbled "I'll call you" blow-offs when we said good-night... but then he actually called.
If you haven't guessed, that blind date turned out to be The Husband.
We got married two years and four months after that first date, and two years and four months after the wedding we had The Son. The life and home and family we've made together over this last decade has been an oasis of peace and contentment that has allowed my creativity to thrive.
The Husband is the most genuine guy I know, and one of the Top Three funniest. He's a strange amalgam of tenderhearted metalhead and crabby old man. He is a total chick magnet-- but the chicks are either under 5, over 70, or cats. He claims to have never read a book in his life, but he builds robots to do household tasks for him. In the decade I've known him, he's owned eight computers but only two pairs of shoes.
The Son wants to be exactly like him. I'd be aces with that, but unfortunately for him he has too much of me in him to fully pull that off.
Happy Dativersary to a hell of a dude, who is as mystified by my novel-writing hobby as I am by building a robot out of Lego's and programming it to sort M&M's by color, but who nevertheless supports my work and tolerates my frequent forays deep inside my own head. Tonight we're going to have a quiet night on the couch, and there's no one else I'd rather share a white Russian and a viewing of The Truman Show with. Cheers!
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