The lovely yet formidable Marcia and I recently celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary. That sounds like a long time, but it’s really only slightly more than three decades, which, when you think about it, is only a blip in time when compared to glaciers, the stars and, you know, rocks and stuff.
So, okay – we’ve been around the block 6,537 times or so.
When you’re married this long, you tend to not make a big deal about anniversaries. We used to do gifts and cards and long, candlelit dinners, even the occasional romantic overnight at a hotel somewhere. Then we figured out that’s how you get kids.
So, these days, we’re more like, “Hey, is it our anniversary today?”
“I think so.”
“So you wanna celebrate?”
“I’m too tired. Did you pick up dog food on the way home like I asked?”
“No, I forgot.”
“You always forget.”
“And you always remember that I forget.”
This year, we did, however, post loving tributes to one another on Facebook along with a few photos of us back in the day and now. It saved us a few bucks on greeting cards, which I never understood anyway. Nothing says “I love you” more than a card that somebody else wrote.
Many, many people offered a simple “Congratulations!” which was truly touching. But more than a few added an additional comment. Here’s a sampling. See if you detect a theme.
“34 years and she still looks sane and healthy.”
“34 years with you? She must be a saint.”
“Andy, you must have accidentally done something right to earn enough good Karma to snag Marcia.”
“Andrew got himself a trophy wife.”
“She doesn’t look like she’s aged a minute. But what happened to you?”
“Andy, you lucked out.”
“Andy, you’re a lucky man.”
“Wow, are you lucky. Her, not so much.”
“Better luck next time, Marcia.”
“At least she got the incredible kids out of it. Kids are worth any suffering you have to endure.”
“Marcia, I feel your pain.” (That one was from my sister.)
“No doubt she rues the day, lol!”
“Andy, hold on to her like grim death, my friend. Grim. Death.”
I’m not too bright, but I think people are trying to tell me that I married way, way, way up. I have news for them, though: I knew that already. I knew she was out of my league when I spotted her across the room at a floor meeting in Barnard Hall at Central Michigan University. I knew she was out of my league when we got married. (I kept waiting for the whole congregation to stand and object in unison.) And, I know it now.
That said, would it have been too much to ask for just one of our friends to write, “Wow, was Marcia lucky to have snagged you!”
Guess I can’t blame them, though. No one likes to lie.