I sometimes see my single friends and get a little pang. Not of regret, not at all, just of the thought of what a different life it would be. A life with no check-ins, no 7 a.m. weekend wakeups, no mortgage. It's a life different than mine, no better. Maybe sometimes.
But there is something to be said...
For having someone who roots for you no matter what--because deep in their hearts they want nothing--nothing--more than for you to be happy.
For having someone who can tell you the absolute truth--but knows exactly how to deliver it and that it varies depending on subject, mood, hunger level, or whether it's partly cloudy with a slight eastern wind.
Someone who, even when they're MADMADMAD, still can stop and say I love you--and mean it.
Who gets Tory and Habitual logos confused--yes, who studies your closet enough to notice these things.
Who calls your friend with incredible style to help him pick out three things you can't live without--and be dead on.
Who, when you come home with something utterly ridiculous--like, for example, a Balenciaga B Bag, rolls his eyes, half asks whether you're really keeping it, but knows the answer and doesn't really complain.
Who lets you watch Love, Actually whenever it comes on, no matter where it is in the story line (with the exception of during Steelers games).
Who when you've gotten in way over your head, stops what he's doing and pitches in--from handpainting your wedding programs eleven years ago to licking envelopes for charity.
Whose love for your child is so great, and parenting skills so amazing, that you can't imagine a more powerful bond between father and son.
Lucky, lucky, lucky me.
Happy anniversary, love. Thank you for a wonderful life.