My husband and I have been together almost 16 years, and we just celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary. As such, I have to pay homage to my better half – especially after reading these sweet words of adoration he posted on Facebook:
“Happy anniversary to my best friend and the best wife any guy could ask for. Who else would put up with all my crap? 
Love you with all of my heart.”
Okay, go ahead and say it – AWWWWW…except he posted this romantic and honest sentiment on April 20th, and our anniversary was April 22nd! LOL…However, in his defense, this is the FIRST time he’s ever been wrong about the date of our anniversary, my birthday or any other important date.
So, in turn, I’d like to share a couple of anecdotes from when we were dating about what a great guy he is/was and why we click, so to speak.
The first weekend that Charlie stayed at my apartment in Dublin (Ohio) back in ’97, we had been to a party where the only grub was chips and pretzels, and we were both hungry when we got back to my place. So, I’m scrounging around for something to eat, and I was about to suggest we order a pizza because Tim was going through a growth spurt (he was 10 at the time), and he’d eaten all the leftovers after school that day – when as a JOKE, I said…
“I’ve got Spaghettios.” Followed by a giggle, and, yes, I meant – Chef Boyardee spaghetti in a can with meatballs.
“Cool. I love Spaghettios,” he replied smiling.
“Really?” I asked, totally surprised because I assumed he’d rather have Domino’s or Pizza Hut.
“Yeah.”
“All righty, then,” I replied, grabbing the can opener.
After I artfully microwaved our canned pasta, we sat down in the living room. In the middle of a conversation about why we both liked the plot of the TV show Babylon 5 but couldn’t watch it because the acting was so bad, he suddenly stopped talking. He was staring at my bowl of cheapo pasta with an ODD smirk.
“What?” I asked, hoping to GOD there wasn’t a bug in my cuisine or food in my hair.
“Um, I do that,” he replied nodding toward the way I was dumping Spaghettios on an ordinary piece of white bread.
“Oh, that,” I said smiling. “I’ve done that since I was 5 or 6. I think they taste better on bread.”
“Me too. I’m always afraid to do that around people I don’t know very well, afraid they’ll make fun of me,” he said, smiling.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass. This is the way I like it, and this is the way I’m going to eat it. If you’ve got a problem with that, there’s the damned door,” I said, laughing again.
He nodded…and that was our first BONDING moment.And here’s my favorite photo of Charlie, taken about a week later after the Spaghettio incident…
In his hockey jersey – taken sometime in the Winter of 1998
About six months after that, the boys and I moved in with Charlie. He’d just finished building his first house on the westside of Columbus, and I was REALLY happy that he’d asked us to move in with him. The lease was up on my apartment, and they’d jacked the rent up to way more than I could afford. And we spent most of our time at Charlie’s house anyway.
About a month after that, Max, who was 5 at the time, got the stomach flu and threw up ALL over Charlie’s obnoxiously ugly, orange plaid couch.
Max always got really upset when he lost his lunch like that, and that day was no exception, and he was bawling his eyes out. “You’ll be all right, buddy,” I said between Max’s howling cries.
“No, I won’t,” Max blubbered, “I need to go to the hospital.”
“You have the stomach flu,” I replied, “Just like that kid in your class, Tyler, did last week.”
“No, I’m much worse. It’s probably that cancer that Aunt Ramona had.”
I had to stifle a laugh at that one while helping Max take off his soiled shirt and wincing at the milky mix of regurgitated potato soup and red Kool-Aide all over Charlie’s sofa, and I couldn’t help but worry that Charlie might be upset that Max had barfed all over HIS love seat.
However, Charlie walked in a couple minutes later and upon seeing the YUCK in Max’s hair and on the couch, he said, “Well, which one do you want? The couch or the kid?”
Before I could answer, Max replied, “I want Charlie to give me a bath, not you, Mommy.”
“Okay,” I said as Charlie scooped the smelly boy up in his arms, heading for the bathroom.
Some Moms would be upset that the new boyfriend had usurped her motherly duty that day. Not me! I was thrilled that Max was so accepting of Charlie in our new family dynamic. And I was relieved that Charlie was not the least bit concerned about his furniture and dropped everything to help take care of a sick kid, who wasn’t biologically his and for the record he’s never ONCE used the term – stepson since the day we got married. It was always – “OUR SON, OUR BOYS.” Except on legal documents like insurance forms and tax returns.
I knew at that moment as Charlie carried Max upstairs that he should be my lawfully wedded love/best friend/chef extraordinaire/fixer of all things mechanical/finder of lost remotes/awesome supporter of my writing career/tapper of my kegs (see previous post at http://tenaciousbitch.com/2013/04/10/post-93-death-taxes-and-dont-judge-my-box/ ), voodoo master who makes my computer behave by merely standing behind it/and the first one to laugh at my dumb jokes.
Luckily, three years later, he came to the same conclusion (that we should get hitched…:)…
And though, of course, it hasn’t been like Christmas every day, it’s pretty damned good. And I guess I should thank Max for vomiting on Charlie’s sofa that day…:)..oh, and the LOVE, honor and will buy Ford?
Um, yeah, the only sort of Pre-Nup we had was a verbal agreement that Charlie would never have anything but a vehicle manufactured by FORD (or at the very least – an American car) in his name or his garage…and until buying the Escalade…such was the case. Though I’d always bought Japanese vehicles, buying American was definitely worth having a man at my side who doesn’t get bent out of shape by a little bit of throw up…:)
Over and out from Fucked Up Central…
~TenaciousBITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies…
