Our anniversary is December 23rd, so we've officially been married six years now. Finding a sitter the weekend before Christmas has never been easy, so we didn't really do much. We exchanged presents and enjoyed being together, but there was no real date involved. I got Matt a boxed set of Sherlock Holmes books and Matt got me some Tintin comics. That's actually spot on for me, at least. Tintin was one of my favorite childhood heroes. For dinner Matt used the smoker he purchased the week of Thanksgiving to smoke a whole chicken and it was awesome. Caen, the German Shepherd, couldn't take his eyes off it. He got all the skin. None of the humans in the house like chicken skin.
Florida actually managed cold this weekend. It had been cool once or twice, but this was the first time I think it really merited "cold" at least by my Oregonian standards. Because of that I spent a lot of time curled up in my Marine Corp sweat shirt. Most Marine wives, or other military branch wives, will have at least one of these, but personally I've always felt kind of weird wearing mine. After all, I'm not in the Marines. Like many girls I got my sweatshirt while we were still dating, along with a spare pair of dog tags, both of which I wore while he was in Iraq, the dog tags every day, the sweat shirt more occasionally. In Oregon it actually got commented upon once or twice, compliments from older men who were probably former Marines themselves, just a casual exchange of, "I like your shirt" and my blushing, "it's my boyfriend's." When we married and moved to San Diego and I was suddenly surrounded by other Marines and Marine Corp wives, that is when I started to develop my self-consciousness. After all, a lot of the young women there were actually Marines or sailors, not just wives, and I guess I felt they'd earned the shirts and I hadn't. I've loosened up over that since then. You can't go anywhere in Pensacola without bumping into dozens of ladies wearing shirts with military emblems, and while a percentage are probably service members, a lot of them are wives and girlfriends. It used to wear the shirt as a way of bragging about the man I'd captured, a man I was proud of but whose choice of careers intimidated me just a little bit.
Now it's just a shirt.
I'm still proud of him but not intimidated any more. He's still the high school crush I couldn't get over, the friend I couldn't be happier sharing geeky obsessions with, and the beloved I always wanted. He's simply the best. Thanks for the last six years, Matt. Let's go for another sixty.