My standard line for such occasions is to ask, "Can you imagine what that woman has been through?" But seriously, can you?! Roughly 2,555 days of completely legal and binding marital entrapment with yours truly have had to have taken their toll.
Sure, the first 365 days are typically your Omaha Beach scenario, with war and carnage everywhere. Fine. But that still leaves 2,190 for cleaning up the hedgerows.
Happy anniversary, Babe. Your Purple (and black, and blue) Heart is in the mail. Love ya, dude.*
Now that I think about it, at this point, Jacob was still strawbossing for Laban and was about to be hornswoggled into marrying two (count'em, two) wives. And after his seven years, that dude in The Seven Year Itch was having to endure the sight of Marilyn's levitating dress. I guess things could be a lot worse.
H.M. successfully coordinated childcare for 60+ kids at the church marriage seminar this weekend. She's exhausted. The catch, here, was that neither she, nor her bumbling assistant (giveya 3 guesses) got much of any marriage advice. Ironical, huh?!
In other news, Jack now helps end our nightly prayers with "Amen." He tries to beat me to the punch, so I really have to nail my "'NJesus'nameweprayAMEN" before he gets his little "Amuh" out. IN YOUR FACE, BABY!
*Can we negotiate speaking terms, now?
Note: A special thanks this week to Cake Wrecks (and I suppose The Office) for the cake above.