Hey P.J.,
Happy anniversary! Almost. We’re almost at 7 years- and I know how much you love your little mathly technicalities- so I’ll wait until this Sunday to say this to your face. (This is a big concession, which I know you know, being as I dig celebrating my birthday from May 6th until July 6th. Birthday “month” really only depends on when you start and when you end, right? Don’t answer that.)
Another thing I know we both know is how ludicrous the term “seven year itch” really is. Our seven year marriage has been called many things, but “staid” is not one of them. Folks with lesser flexibility might’ve gotten whiplash from the mortgages, pregnancies, crises, and near-constant travel from the past years, but luckily we’ve always had rather impressive posture and spinal strength. At least emotionally. That’s right, I just called you out for having wonderful emotional posture. Take a second to bask in that one.
Sometimes we drive straight to the ocean. (Just out of frame: Hour 15 of Bubble Guppies on DVD.)
For years I’ve been driving you crazy with- no, do not fill in the blanks with the myriad of ways I’ve been driving you crazy, let me enlighten you with this one specific way, thankyouverymuch– a phrase. “That’s not why.”
Every time you do something for which I’m grateful (be it opening a deceptively tricky jar or, say, heading face-first into a crawlspace to see if that horrid smell was indeed a dead-ish rat), you offer up that patented grin and a “That’s why you married me.”
“That’s not why,” I always say, oh-so cheerfully.
You used to laugh at this, sure in the knowledge that OH YES THIS WAS WHY, but lately you’ve taken to giving me a look, like maybe one of these days I’d actually tell you the true reason for pinning lilies to ourselves and sprinting down an aisle, seven years back. And don’t get me wrong- there are a ridiculous number of contender reasons.
Like how I can always rely on your compassion, your sensitivity, and quiet strength during exceptionally difficult times. You’ve really taken that “in sickness and in health/good times and bad” section to heart, haven’t you? Even young and idealistic Me couldn’t have fathomed what a rock you’d be while cancer slowly claimed our shared hero. But no, while I’d guessed that you’d be in it for the long haul, that’s not why I married you.
From the moment I really (really) started talking with you, I knew you’d be the kind of guy who’d provide security- in every sense of the word. From solid investments to spotting a kid on the jungle gym to ensuring that my ear is covered by the sheet each night (because the struggle is real), you keep us safe. Especially from an earwig attack. But no, especially from scary, external forces. (Like an ear earwig.) That said, that’s not why I married you, either.
And let’s take a moment to be shallow. I thought you were one of the cutest boys I’d ever seen. (I still do.) That insanely big smile! The way your hair grows in all directions maybe three days after a haircut! Those ridiculously clear green eyes- do you know how rare green eyes like yours are? Not to mention how rare green eyes like yours were when they looked me in the actual eyes as I spoke to you. From day one. You listened, you respected, you remembered- and, good Lord, I swooned. (And I won’t lie: I had never before found overalls even remotely attractive until you wore a way too small costume during that late-night comedy where we met. So, disregard all of that “respect” stuff I just pinged at you. For I apparently treated you like a side of beef. I’m completely sorry.) But guess what? No matter how much I want to mess up your hair and kiss your face, that’s still not why I said yes.
So here it is, P.J. The truth.
Do you remember when I kinda, sorta told you I loved you for the first time? I had not been looking for you, I was not ready for you, and I really wasn’t jiving on dating a (slightly) younger actor from the Midwest. I had plans! THOSE were not my plans! But I fell for you like a baby grand piano flung from a third floor window. (Unexpectedly. Slightly comically.) And I reluctantly told you as much one night with a sheepish “I think I’m half in love with you at this point.”
You laughed. You actually threw your head back and laughed. I was prepared to punch you in the nose and set your bus pass on fire…but then I really listened to your laugh. It was borderline euphoric.
“Keely,” you said on a laugh. “I am so completely in love with you.”
So that’s why.
That’s why I married you; because you made me feel like our relationship was a jubilantly clutched lotto ticket with all the right numbers. Seven year itch? Nah, it’s more like lucky sevens-
-And I absolutely know when to hold them.
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