Anniversaries

(dating tip for the Single Girl, 1938)

My husband doesn't forget anniversaries.

He remembers the day we became an official couple, the day we said "I love you," the day we became engaged... he remembers that on the way to meet his family, we stopped at a gas station and bought a huge bag of Reeses Pieces which I consumed out of nervousness (I'd never met anyone's parents I didn't already know).  He remembers the overalls I wore the night we stayed up talking until 4 am.  He remembers the sweats I was wearing the day we met for the first time. 

I woke up this morning and didn't realize that today is one of the lesser anniversaries -the kind other people forget but my husband does not. It wasn't until I glanced at my phone in my half-awake stupor and saw the date that it hit me.  I texted my husband a quick, "Happy Anniversary.  Love you."  And on his insistence, I secured a sitter and we spent 2 full hours alone tonight.  Well, alone plus the people at Sonic and Wal-Mart.

We talked.
We talked about what we would tell ourselves nine years ago (when we were dating), but when my husband said something about "I'd tell myself to get a handle on this whole porn thing" something just... flipped inside of me.  I didn't want to talk about This Whole Porn Thing.
I wanted porn to take a backseat (for lack of better phraseology).

We ate ice cream and talked about buffalo hunting, buffalo sighting, bucket lists, putting "see a real live buffalo" on our bucket list.
We talked about Santa, and we both learned that each of us figured out the whole "Santa" thing when we'd asked for toys that weren't sold in stores (he wanted a flying suit.  I wanted a four foot treasure troll).  When we were denied, we KNEW. 
I didn't know that about my husband.  I didn't know he was as smart as me.
(That's a little joke, just in case you don't know me well enough by now).

We talked about weeping willow trees and I learned that he hates them.  He learned that they're my favorite of All The Trees (we're not sure how to reconcile this yet.  I won't even get started on our opposing Sour Cream views, bloody World War III).

We talked about daisies dyed to look patriotic.  I told them I couldn't stand dyed flowers because they just... they're the hookers of the floral section, okay? all painted up unnatural waiting for someone to take them home...
He bought me white daisies.  My second favorite flower.

Porn has infected our relationship, and I can't always NOT talk about it.  I can't always put porn in the backseat (which, incidentally, is it's favorite spot).  Sometimes when we're alone, I spew porn education, quotes, data, scriptures, information... and if he asks me to please stop, it's like putting a kink in a hose (oh my gosh, I'm on a freakin ROLL with the awful phrasing tonight).
 Eventually it all spews out and attacks anyone and everyone standing nearby.

And should my husband have wanted to talk about porn, we would have.  But it turns out, we really DO have so much more to talk about.
Did you know it's illegal to own a skunk as a pet in at least 15 states?
There's a dead skunk nearby... it's roadkill and it's so gross.  The Arizona sun is making it stink to high hell.
 As I drove my son's friend home today, I said, "Oh, poor skunk... it went to Heaven."
"Heaven?" the little boy asked.
"Yeah."
"Why?" Kids love that word, bless their little hearts.
"It got hit by a car."
"My mom didn't hit it," he said, defensively.
"I don't think she did," I said, "It probably happened last night.  Skunks usually only come out at night."
"It went to Heaven at night?" He asked.
"I think so."
"Hmmm... the only place I go at night is Mee-Maw's house."

Okay, it made me laugh so hard I had to bite my cheek.

And that's what we talked about tonight.
Happy Smaller Anniversary to us.  Happy unhookery daisies on the table. 
Happy glimpses of hope.
Happy.