Six years ago today, Pookie and I got married. It was a beautiful ceremony with most of the people we loved in attendance.
We took everyone out to eat, except for Baby Girl (who was busy driving the porcelain bus) and my little brother (who kindly offered to stay with her).
Afterwards, we sent all the kids off with various people. Yes, I sent my sick kid away so I could drink the wine, have the sex and conceive her little brother. Any residual guilt I might have had from that vanished when I told her that we were having a boy and she ran crying to her room because I obviously manipulated things so that I could have a boy just to spite her wish for a baby sister.
It was also at this point that I thanked God for another boy, as the hormonal twelve year old girl thing was wearing me the fuck out.
Tonight, as I was sending Pooter off to bed, I asked Pookie if he could ever have imagined where we’d be this far down the road.
He told me that obviously he couldn’t have, because he married me anyway.
Then he laughed uproariously.
I’m the tiniest bit sincerely peeved with him right now (although, I will admit that hormones may be playing their little part here).
Since he is usually The Sweetest Man in the World, I’ll forgive him sooner rather than later, but if he wasn’t bigger than me and trained in the deadly art of Ass Kicking, I would so give him a wet willie right now.
Hmph.
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!
