Today is our wedding anniversary. The reason we are married is because my husband is the world’s best husband. Not only is he Guinness Book Husband worthy, he’s also the best father in existence. There could be an award ceremony and he would have to attend or the ceremony would be a bogus attempt equaling ultimate father ceremony failure.
The first thing he said this morning is the best thing a person could ever say. “Happy Anniversary! Where would you like to have dinner for our anniversary, honey-boo-boo-lover-face?” He is giving me a choice. I could say anything and the answer would be none other than— yes. There’s a lot of joy being placed in this situation. It almost makes me forget cancer cells are living inside my body with a goal of quickly killing me. It’s like being cancer-free when someone tells you there is no place you can’t have dinner in an entire city.
If he married someone who turned into some kind of scary troll, then he would have said something totally different. “Sad Anniversary. Hope you find a place to have dinner alone, like a dark basement, while not having enough money to order an appetizer.” Maybe he would say that to a mean wife. Since I’m the nicest wife in at least this part of the United States, this means I decide where to have dinner and will most likely not pay for the dinner in which I’m speaking.
Dean Fearing finally started following me on twitter a few days ago. Maybe it wasn’t Dean Fearing because Dean Fearing might have a PR person tweeting twitter tweets for him. He’s a busy chef with lots of mise en place to prepare. I stalked his tweets for three minutes and decided they have to be his. The tweets weren’t super spastic like PR tweets can sometimes be. No offense, obviously. I feel like we should have dinner at Fearing’s since Dean Fearing and I are practically best friends now. This is how I feel, so it must be true.