Today my husband and I are celebrating 18 years of marriage. In honor of that, I've declared Paul as co-author of this blog post. The idea came to me after he called this morning:
"I just called to wish you a happy anniversary," he said.
"Aww," I said. "Happy anniversary to you."
"Thanks," he said. "Can I have my spine back?"
Here are our favorite comebacks:
"I ground it to a fine powder and made it into bread. Enjoy your pb&j."
"I've never seen it. Call your mother."
"That old thing? Useless. I threw it out with your baseball cards, moron."
This truly reflects the nature of our wedding day. In brief, 18 years ago, the handoff from parents to groom resulted in my floor length veil, hanging from a crown of flowers, sailing off of my head. I picked it up and Paul slapped it back on like he was slam-dunking a basketball. The pastor called Paul my wife, the groomsmen hung a Michigan banner in the back of the church and later, at the head table, watched their beloved Wolverines lose (ha, ha - I've been a 'noles fan ever since). Pizza was delivered, the garter was caught by a 12-year old, and the afternoon ended with Paul and I, still in wedding finery, riding a Model A fire truck around town.
We laughed and laughed and somehow, even through challenges, kept it together and kept laughing. Skip the porcelain: make me laugh.
P.S. Paul is, right now, making a porcelain bus joke.