This year is different, though. This year is our 5-year anniversary. It's the first "big" number we've hit. I couldn't get her the same lousy card as I had in the past; I'd have to do something a little better. Step up my game a bit. I pulled together the Brain Trust—my daughters—to come up with a can't-miss idea. Unfortunately, key members of the Brain Trust were already wrapped up in their individual projects: one proving Newton's Theory of Relativity, one making mouth bubbles with her spit.
Instead of a card this year, I've decided to publicly thank my wife for many of the things she's done for me over the past five years. I know—probably not as good as a trip to Hawaii or a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon, but certainly more accommodating to our budget (after all, napkins to clean up spit bubbles aren't free) and hopefully more from the heart. Here it goes:
Dear Wife ...
Thank you for saying "I Do." The phrase never meant much to me until it came from your lips. When it did, it immediately became my favorite two-word combination, dethroning the phrase "Rock Bump."
Thank you for a wonderful honeymoon and allowing me to chug all those Choco Loco fancy drinks. Had it not been for your support, I'd never have known what a pure laxative would do to my body.
Thank you for washing my softball clothes, even if it meant that you had to purchase a surgical mask and Playtex gloves. I will reimburse you for them. (An early 6th anniversary present, perhaps?)
Thank you for listening to, deleting and forgetting to tell me about messages on the answering machine. Without you, I'd have had to spend who knows how many minutes calling people back.
Thank you for changing the song on the alarm clock from "Domo Arigato Mr Roboto" to "Anything-But-Domo-Arigato-Mr-Roboto." I was two mornings away from hurling myself out the window, so the change saved my life.
Thank you for saving my life.
Thank you for e-mailing me while I'm at work. It forces me to take a break from checking my pitiful fantasy football team. Guess this year isn't the year for team "Bacon Is Meat Candy."
Thank you for watching the Reds with me ... and tolerating my long lectures of useless stats, information and opinions. You may only be pretending to nod in agreement as I spout off about the absurdity of the Designated Hitter, but deep down I know that you think the Designated Hitter is stupid too.
Thank you for figuring out the plot of every movie we watch halfway through watching it and then sharing it with me. Because of you, I can fall asleep before it's over and still tell my sister whether the movie was good or not.
Thank you for making me a dad. I definitely couldn't have done this one alone. Besides the physical impossibilities, I look terrible in maternity pants. (Who knew?)
Thank you for getting our girls dressed in the morning. It saves me the embarrassment of answering the question, "Why are they wearing spaghetti-strapped undershirts over orange tank tops with green pants and winter Reds hats ... and no shoes?" I don't want to have to answer that question a third time.
And most important:
Thank you for letting me poke fun at you week in and week out on this blog. Not many wives would. It's your sense of humor that drives my sense of humor—and THAT drives me madly in love with you.
There are a million gagillion bazillion other reasons you deserve to be thanked and I promise to try and thank you for all of them. In the meantime, I can sum them all up like this: When our kids grow up I hope they are lucky enough to find someone that makes them as happy as you make me.
p.s.-You're so lucky to have such an awesome husband.
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