Happy Anniversary to Me!

            No, this blog post has nothing to do with any authoring/bookish anniversary.  I’m talking about my 17th Wedding Anniversary.  So please prepare yourself for a mushy, gushing post about the immense love I have for my amazing husband.

            Just kidding.  I’m many things, but sappy really isn’t one of them.  That doesn’t mean I’m not going to pay tribute to the man I married seventeen years ago…it just means I’m doing it “Grace Style.”  (Funny and brutally honest).

Hence forth, my husband shall be referred to as RLR.  No, these are not his initials.  My first book is “My Dirty Detour” and the character of Violet is based off of me, while the character of Rocky is based off my husband.  Therefore, RLR stands for Real Life Rocky.  Yes, I suppose it was a bit narcissistic to base a character off myself, but I believe in the old adage, “Write what you know.”  Who do I know better than myself?  It’s simple logic, people.

Anyway…back to the topic.  Love and marriage.  This blog post will cover all the wonderful things I love about RLR.

—  After seventeen years, he’s realized that flowers are a waste of money and he gets more points if he brings home a donut.  Let me explain.  1) You can’t eat flowers, but you CAN appreciate the fine nuances of a crème filled chocolate long john.  2) It proves he’s LISTENING to me.  A few weeks ago it suddenly came to my attention that we hadn’t had any donuts in a while.  I casually remarked on this awful turn of events.

Me:  “We haven’t had any donuts in a while.”

Him:  “Yeah, we haven’t.”

Yes, he’s a man of few words.  Yes, we both like donuts.

So do you know what happened?  Not more than two days later, he brought home donuts.  If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

— He leaves me love notes.  While you may picture him sitting at a roll top desk with a quill fountain pen, pouring over just the right words to profess his love on paper…that’s not the type of letter I’m referring to.  Although I do applaud you for thinking such inspiring romantic notions.  He actually went fishing last week and he wasn’t home when I got back from work.  So he left a note.

“Gone fishin’      Be Back Later        Love ya    RLR”

Yes, you read that correctly.  He signed the note with RLR.  That is a HUGE deal.  It proves that he actually LISTENS when I talk about all the crazy shit I’m writing, and he paid attention long enough to know that he has a nickname.  Swoon!  Yes, I saved the note because I’m sentimental like that.

— He worries about my well-being.  Whenever we go anywhere and it just happens to be raining outside, he’ll ask if should drop me off at the door so I don’t get wet.  That is so sweet!  Never once in the past seventeen years have I taken him up on this offer.  Why?  Water won’t make me melt because I’m not the bad witch in the Wizard of Oz.

— He warns me of danger.  I tend to be a little klutzy and NOT street smart at all.  I’ve lived a sheltered life and would probably die within fifteen minutes of any real apocalypse scenario.  My husband KNOWS this.  We were driving home from the grocery store last week and I spotted a giant turtle walking down the sidewalk.  I shit you not, folks, this turtle was the size of a manhole cover!  Just walking down the sidewalk as if it had somewhere important to be.  I screamed, “STOP THE CAR, PULL OVER, TURTLE!” at the top of my lungs.  Let me also mention that I do not live in Florida, so I should not be seeing giant turtles walking down the sidewalk on a random Sunday morning like it’s an everyday occurrence.  Let me also explain that I love animals of any variety and I want to rescue each and every one of them, whether they need my help or not.  So RLR glances out the car window and thus began our exchange:

Him:  “That’s a snapping turtle.  If you try and touch it, you’ll get your finger bitten off.”

Me:  “But we have to SAVE it!  Go get it.”

Him:  “And do WHAT with it?”

Me:  “We’ll take it to a creek or a pond or somewhere safe.”

He says nothing in reply.

Me:  “So…go get it….we have to save it!”

Him:  “But where are you going to put it?”

Me:  “We’ll take it to a creek or a pond or somewhere safe.”

He says nothing in reply.

Me:  “GO GET IT!”

Him:  “But where are you going to put it?”

By now this is turning into some Three Stooges/ Laurel and Hardy  “who’s on first” skit and I’m losing my patience.  He ended up NOT getting the turtle and driving away.  I went home, googled it, and realized that you’re not supposed to remove turtles from their environment, just let them be.  So…I didn’t get my finger bit off, he’s quiet stubborn, and I appear to have forgot what caused me to tell this story in the first place.

—  He’s full of surprises.  For one of our anniversaries, he took me to a nice restaurant.  I must have been using the ladies’ room when the waitress came to take our salad order.  Upon my return, I found a lovely salad with Thousand Island dressing sitting at the table.  Here is the exact transcript of the conversation that followed:

Me:  “What is this?”

Him:  “Salad.  Why?  What’s wrong with it?”

Me:  “This is Thousand Island dressing.”

Him:  “Yeah, cuz that’s what you like.”

Me:  “Are you kidding me?  This is our TWELVE YEAR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY!  You don’t know what salad dressing I like after TWELVE YEARS?  Are you even paying attention at all?”

He laughed.

Just for the record, I used to eat Ranch Dressing before I got married.  My husband likes French.  In order to save money on salad dressing (and to prevent it from expiring due to non-use) I switched over to French and it’s fine.  Yes, you understood that correctly.  I eat the same damn salad dressing as he does, yet he still didn’t know what to order me.

But it’s not all unicorns and sunshine.  Marriage is a lot of work.  In case you want a negative example, I shall be happy to oblige.

—  He won’t let me drink out of his beverage after seventeen years of marriage without throwing a major hissy fit.  If he gets a soda of any variety, he insists I get my own straw.  It’s pretty much a rarity that he’ll even agree to share one in the first place.  Evidently he’s under the false impression that I ‘backwash’ into the bottle.  I believe his exact argument is something to the effect of, “You wrap your whole mouth around the top of the bottle and half your food goes back into the soda.”  Clearly he’s delusional.

pepsi

So in conclusion…HAPPY ANNIVERSARY to my beloved husband and thank you for putting up with me for so long!

Thanks for reading and have a great day!

Grace…

P.S.   In case you were wondering if he’ll ever read this blog post….the chances are somewhere around 10% at best.  He’s also never read one single page of one single book I wrote.  I show him the covers and offer to let him read them.  His response?

“Is it all words or are there pictures?  I’m not big on words.”

OR

“I don’t need to read it, baby.  I’m RLR.  I LIVED IT!”

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