Anniversary Aftermath

Yesterday was Frank and me’s (Frank and I’s? Frank’s and mine? What is it? Hey, I’m the writer here) anniversary. Yep, three years. And as Seinfeld once said, “Well, three years is a long time to be married.”

But this anniversary we were apart. I’m here in A-town and Frank’s in Big D. So I don’t have any fun Fiesta Trio, TGI Friday Feasts to tell you about. But we’re going out on Friday to celebrate so surely there will be blog-worthy tales. Except now that I think about it, our anniversaries always seem to be ripe with controversy:

On our first anniversary we went to Gruene. We started a tradition of taking a picture and holding up the number of years we’ve been married. Cute, huh?



But then I got this killer tummy ache and Frank ended up touring the town on his own and taking more random feet pictures like this one:



For our second anniversary we went to the Oasis and took this picture.


Excellent dinner. I had a veggie burger. But then a few months later the whole darn place burned down.

And speaking of disasters, even our wedding day included chaos. As we were driving away from the reception in our limo, we stuck our heads out the sun roof long enough to wave when suddenly golf-ball sized (they’re always golf-ball sized, aren’t they?) hail began to pound on us. The limo driver had to pull over under a carport in a random parking lot where we sat for about half an hour, watching Texas lose in the Final Four. The next day Frank’s back car window was completely blown out. Our second day of marital bliss involved taking his car to get the window replaced.

But even though our anniversaries aren't always perfect, at least they're real. I mean, you can have your chocolate-covered strawberries, champagne and dinners with two forks, I'll take a hearty meal at a large chain restaurant and a Vitatop. And that, my friends, is the secret to a good marriage. Well, that and a new bag in the trash can.