So, I’ve been with my husband for over twenty-five years, but we’ve been married sixteen of them.
I get rather confused when discussing this because I tend to value the larger number as the most real of the two, so I’m always telling people we’ve been married for twenty-six years and then people assume we got married when I was fourteen. It’s the South, so it plays nicely into their stereotype. But, nope, we waited until we were out of college to get married.
Anyway, today is our sixteenth wedding anniversary and I would marry him again tomorrow. Because he’s just that great. And cute. And funny. And good. And, well, I love him.
Happy anniversary, husband of mine! Though it will feel more real on November 7th when it’s been twenty-six years!
