|The mast and me, five years in|
"Well treat it kindly. It's a stranger in a foreign land," I replied, which was something my dad always said when presented with the same statement.
"Don't say that anymore- that's old," said Steve, who knew I didn't mean it, but was tired of hearing it just the same.
"Okay. What was this thought of yours?" I asked.
"Marrying you was probably one of the smartest things I ever did."
Damn right, I was tempted to say. But really? I've been saying for years that marrying Steve was the smartest thing I ever did.
Teaching him how to yeast bake was the second smartest thing I ever did, and convincing him to brew his own beer was probably the third smartest. But I digress.
Steve and I were married ten years ago today on the front porch of a friend's mother's old victorian on the St. Johns river in Jacksonville. We were both wearing our jeans and Birkenstock sandals. This same friend's father presided over our ceremony. His sartorial splendor consisted of jeans and sneakers on the bottom half, and a tux and tie on the top half. He had renewed his notary status just for the occasion, and I still feel that our wedding was perfect.
I'd do it over and over and over again, just the same way, for all the same reasons.
Happy anniversary, Honey Boy.