Love letters are so gross.


Today is our anniversary. Since love letters are so overrated, I’m going to offer you a reality check, because I know that you consider yourself a “realist”, and therefore will appreciate the lack of sentimental goo that usually spews out of my keyboard on occasions such as this.

(In keeping with the theme, I should point out that you are, in some circles, considered to be a “pessimist”. Hey, we both know you didn’t think BYU had a chance against Oklahoma.)

Here’s the reality. Ten years ago, on this day, I thought you were getting a pretty stinking hot deal. I mean, come on. I was young, vibrant, energetic–how lucky were you? Funny how in the course of a simple “yes”, those traits turned into immature, manic, and impulsive. Hey, I was a pretty good person until I got married.

In the past few years I’ve realized that I was dead wrong in my assessment of our vows (well, mostly wrong. I wasn’t a total wash). Don’t ask me how you turned out to be so level-headed with just the right touch of spontaneity, or responsible without being in any way anal, or quiet but still able to talk to me for hours and hours and hours. Every trait I lack you posses, including, and not limited to, your fantastic buns. Man you’re hot.

And hey, I’m not sugar coating anything here, them’s the facts. You’re downright wonderful. You totally deserved me.

I was on my way home from Costco yesterday afternoon and heard Madonna singing “Crazy for You” and couldn’t figure out why my eyes were leaking (to Madonna!), then “Still the One” came on and I hit full blown hiccoughs. Apparently the reality is simple: I’m Crazy for You and you’re Still the One.

So baby mine, happy 10 years. I’m mad about you. I’ll hitch my dreams to your star any day, thank you for trying so hard to believe in me (even though sometimes it goes against your better judgment).

Pick me up at four, I’ll get the sitter.

To infinity and beyond,