Dearest Husband

I know that you are naturally shy and would probably prefer I keep the following information private, but I have a blog now, and it’s mine, and you don’t know the password, so there. Did you really think that I would let Valentine’s Day come and go and not mention you, and our sweet and sappy love for one another? Please. You know me better then that.

First of all, may I just say, the bouquet far surpassed anything I could have imagined. The roses have glitter on them! You woke up early, drove 30 miles to the L.A. flower district and came home with enough flowers to outfit a small wedding reception. You even remembered your mother-in-law, whose own husband is in distant Singapore on businesss. Dude. 10 points.

We spent the day in an old, shabby-looking bowling alley, because it was close to Polish school, and we bowled until our hips hurt. Yep. You and I. We like it fancy, don’t we honey? I cried because the adult special-needs group next to us made me think of our monchichi and you let the tears roll without passing judgment, comforting me and pointing out the child-like happy faces on the grown men. You went over and fixed their bumper when it got stuck and damn, if that wasn’t sexy as hell.

You planned an elaborate dinner for two, researching days before on the internet, because that is our tradition. You bought herbs you couldn’t pronounce (sorry baby, trying to keep it honest here), and went on a mad search for vanilla bean. You spent four hours in that kitchen, measuring, stirring, cursing, reminding me that for you, love truly is in the details. We ate by candlelight, the pitter patter of feet belonging to curious children our mood music. It was the perfect day. With the perfect man for me.

Not bad for someone I picked up in a seedy bar. Err…, I mean a high end bar and grill, right? (*grin*)

Seven years of marriage has only strengthened our bond. We laugh through adversity and our friendship is effortless. You saved me when I was sinking, stood by me as I tried to fight my way back into living again. You are my biggest fan and you never let me forget it. Of course we fight. Sometimes you seriously piss me off. And I suppose every great once in while, I may do something to irk you as well (or not). But I have never known you to hold a grudge and making up is so much fun, isn’t it?

People are getting divorced left and right honey. I don’t get it. It’s none of my business really, but maybe if they took the time to be more like us, the world would be a picture of pure marital bliss.

I love you baby. You are my rock and roll. My Mrs. Field’s chocolate chip cookie. My sweet dose of everything.


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