I am blind to the tattoo on my wrist, to my shadow’s absenteeism, to the erasure of blue sky. Familiarity breeds forgetfulness. But not yesterday.
“Happy anniversary. I didn’t get you anything,” he said, and gave me a cup of coffee.
“Neither did I,” I said, and gave him a smile in return.
An annual exchange, now, for eighteen years.
Ah, sweet. At least he remembered. My husband (and I) forgot all about it last year. Happy 18 years and counting!
Happy Anniversary!!
My husband and I had a very similar exchange yesterday as well — our 25th. Just the way we like to keep it.
Happy anniversary, and many more!
He knows how to make you smile. This is key.
Great picture of the two of you. ♥
Happy Anniversary!
Thanks everyone. Here’s wishin’ love and happiness back atcha!
Happy anniversary, Rachael. He took you to Paris- now that’s something. But I’d have to agree with Denise: the key is that smile he still brings to your face after all those years.
[…] in reading it to consider my own expectations, not just for writing, but for what it meant to love the same man for eighteen years, and to watch as my children develop singular […]