The One That Didn't Get Away

Tomorrow is our anniversary. I know, Cinqo de Drinko…that’s what everybody tells me. When we set our wedding date 28 years ago, I had no idea it was anything special other than my father-in-law’s birthday. Hubby figured he’d never forget our anniversary that way. Smart man - he never has. I, on the other hand, have been caught with my synapses misfiring more than once. You know how hard it is to fake like you haven’t forgotten your anniversary? It’s not like I can accuse the dog of eating my anniversary card because hubby knows the dog would deposit it on his side of the bed.

People seem genuinely shocked that we’ve been married this long. I simply reply that the man is habit forming. Actually, it was an arranged marriage. By my dad. In Saudi Arabia. Okay, not really. In a prior lifetime hubby worked for my dad in Saudi Arabia back in the oil heyday. I came over for the summer, dad introduced us. Seemed pretty goofy to fly 10,000 miles to meet a guy from Long Beach – thirty miles from where I grew up. Anyway, we got married ten months later. I shudder when I think of the giant leap of faith I was taking. After all, three of those ten months then-boyfriend was still in The Land of Sand. But I figured my dad would never introduce me to an idiot.

I’ve blessed my dad’s interference with my love life for 28 years – he picked me a good ‘un. Hubby has always believed in me, respected my opinions and encouraged me to follow my dreams. He learned early on that I was missing the domestic goddess gene and could burn water at the drop of a hat. He’s made me laugh and made me think. I’m a better person for being married to this guy. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

Happy anniversary, Fredster. You rock.

Gee, guess my mind wasn’t blank after all.