1000 years doesn't seem that long.

Yesterday at Fire, Bub and I promised to spend at least the next 1000 years together over a glass of red wine, and a plate of nicely breaded veal (for me). Our parents will probably be relieved since my father is still smarting over that large bill he got two years ago today, after the merry festivities were done and the hangovers were setting in. I'm pretty sure his head fell right off into a plate of scrambled eggs and my mom had to sew it back on with a complimentary needle and thread found in their hotel room.

I can't believe it's been two years. Sure, it's not a lifetime. It's not even older than some of the foodstuffs in my mother's pantry. But every year, every DAY, we are growing closer together in a way that I seriously never knew existed. I might have wanted a pint of bourbon two years (and a day) ago around this time but that was performance anxiety. I stepped into this marriage knowing it was the smartest and best thing I will ever do and for once I listened to my gut instinct and it was so right. That, and and the time when I knew that a dude in my town was creepy all my young life, and later he was found to be a child molester. I swear to you, TRUE STORY.

With the next 1000 years together in front of us I'm sure I will post more about my marriage, our anniversaries, our times together, the way he picks his nose and I yell at him and the many ways I gross him out with my feet. All of these things will make me want to puke, but the thought of puking with Bub makes it so very worth it.

Happy Anniversary, Bub. I love you.

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Liz in Dublin