Sunday, August 21, 2011

Seven Years.

I used to tease that after being married for five years I was now amply qualified to give marital advice.

Scratch that...five years is so amateur....make it SEVEN years.

The dreaded seventh year, the one where we're suddenly supposed to find ourselves yawning between the sheets and "itching" at the boredom of waking up to the same morning breath day after day after day. The monotony of even the best cut of steak when eaten constantly is supposed to become a real grind. The old ball and chain is weightier. The clothing left on the bathroom floor is now easily grounds for divorce. It's understandable to accept that we've just grown apart at this point. We're different people now. We have different needs.

What is my response to this? How was the seventh year?

Well.....My husband is one hellava piece of meat, that's for sure, and yes, his clothing left on the bathroom floor has always been reasonable grounds for termination but until I start yawning between the sheets, I like the weight of his ball and chain.

Is this sounding dirty? Sorry.

I think what I'm trying to say is that what I've learned so far is simply that I married the most amazing man. And yes, we've grown and changed a lot, but thank goodness for that. The boy I dated and the person I'm married to today are practically two different people, except that they are both products of some inexplicably innate, unchanging, decent, humble, compatible character - one that I fell in love with at 16. How could this be boring? I never married a boring person.

I love my man so dearly. So much so that it is daunting to try to articulate it, so instead I find myself speaking in simplistic terms and referring to sexual innuendo rather than really paying tribute to this sacred aspect of my being. I cannot do it justice in words. I am not ashamed to say that I am not whole without him. My sweet love, my perfectly imperfect union. So grateful for it.

For all this talk of a seven year itch, 
Tyler Ross knows just how to scratch it.

{husband = very sexy man}
{And look! No back hair! 
This is the untold, single most important factor in marital bliss.
You heard it here first, and you're welcome.}
{Does that one mole look a little misshapen to you?}
{Tyler, come here, let me pick at your back.}
{Tyler! Come here! I promise I will only look for a minute this time.}
{I'm going to make an appointment at the dermatologist.}
{You cannot cancel this time.}
{Don't you roll your eyes at me.}
{I'm not your mother, I just pick your back and make your appointments.}
{Happy Seven Years.}

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