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Two Years
I’ve known him seven years; dated him four; been his wife for two.
And I still really like this guy.
I’m not going to make a habit of being publicly sentimental, but I’m really glad that he’s still around after the many, many times I have freaked him out.
Like when he ate all the food in my single-girl refrigerator and I… may have yelled a bit.
Or when, while consuming that food, he left crumbs everywhere and I… did a little huffing and puffing, furiously wiping up after him.
Or any of the times when I suggested that maybe it was time to break up, and instead of agreeing, he gave me this look:
And a hug.
My point here is, I’m less crazy thanks to him. And also nicer, calmer, more flexible, happy…
I’m more of all the things I like about me because of him.
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Shatawn
I’m going to start calling my husband by his middle name.
“Shatawn, would you mind picking up some milk on the way home tonight?”
