Seriously, I thank God every day for my wife. She puts up with a lot of crap from me. You know how I behave here, How would you like to deal with that all day every day? Chew on that for a mere three seconds and you will realize my wife is a damn saint. I married up, believe me.
Here is a rerun of a post I published back on June 30, 2007. I called it Lucky Man:
The shoes hurt my feet. I was a bit aggravated. I had to tell one of my buddies he should not be drinking beer in church. He did not see the problem. I told him the Catholics may not mind, but the Methodists had issues with alcohol in the church. I was half irritated because I wanted one of those beers myself.
I had been in an argument with some other people who wanted to mess with my car. Permanent marker does not come off of windows.
The whole thing was becoming a real pain. I cut myself shaving. The photographer annoyed the shit out of me with the stupid poses. Everyone wanted to talk to me tell me this or that, tell me a story or anecdote from their own experience.
I was pissed because I was standing there waiting. I have little patience now. I had less then. Otter was there. So were some other buddies. Finally the ladies came through the doors, things were finally moving.
I could not help smiling when she came through the door at last. She was beautiful: freckles and all. Her hair, her dress, all looked great. My irritation vanished as the organ switched tunes and the audience stood. Even though this all happened twenty-three years ago, I remember many of the details. The minister seemed to drone about the Galatians or some such. We dated six years before we got married, I guess I do have patience when it comes to certain details. At last the deed was done. We were off to the reception and then the best part -- the honeymoon!
Here I sit, twenty-three years later and I remain married. I am short tempered, I find myself incredibly amusing. My hair is graying and maybe even thinning a bit on top, but I really do not care to investigate. Bifocals are on my nose, my gut has grown. I fart a lot. She sports some gray when she does not keep her hair dyed. Her vision is getting bad too. She cannot decide if she needs longer or shorter arms to read a menu. She thinks she is fat. She complains about getting old. I still think she is beautiful and sexy. Some days I look at her and I am filled with desire. I thank God for her every day -- even those when she pisses me off. I suspect I anger her far more than she does me.
I wanted to post a picture from that day, but my scanner is again on the fritz. Trust me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world standing there in the Methodist Church -- June 30, 1984. I am a lucky man.