Today is our 20th anniversary. Well, not today, today. It is our anniversary as I write this on Tuesday, but you won’t see it until Thursday.
Twenty years ago today, Randy and I were couple number 8 at the Sedgwick County courthouse in Wichita. I rate that wedding first out of my three.
Anyway, we’re not spending our anniversary together.
We are now trending toward shitty wedding anniversaries. Last year, on our wedding anniversary, Randy was recovering from emergency surgery. I gave him a sponge bath for our anniversary last year.
This year, he has come to the aid of one of our favorite people on the planet and will be spending a few weeks there. 256 miles away. This year, since I couldn’t give him a sponge bath, I gave him the gift of not calling him and singing the song Zombie by The Cranberries. He hates that song so much it kind of makes him angry, so if I ever hear it, I have to call him and sing along. Loud. I heard that song driving home from work and didn’t call to sing it to him. That’s how much I love my husband.
I have also found a new appreciation for how much he handles at home.
He works from home so he doesn’t have to get ready in the morning, leave the house, or spend the whole day with other humans, but he does do a lot to make it easier for me to go about my day.
You guys, it sucks not having Randy at home. Last year, when he was hospitalized, I didn’t notice because I was operating on terror and Lucky Charms. But now?
I have to make my own coffee in the morning.
I have to fix my own breakfast.
I have to make my own lunch.
There’s no one to talk to except Alfie the kitty and, sometimes, he bites.
I have to do the laundry.
Do you know how many loads of laundry I’ve done in the past 20 years? Of course you don’t. That would be weird. I don’t know how many loads I’ve done, either, but it’s not many. We got a new washer about a year ago and I think I’ve operated it 2 or 3 times. I think it was about a year ago. I don’t know. The passage of time gets weirder and weirder the older I get.
I say that as though I’ve done laundry since Randy’s been gone. I have not. I can easily scrounge together two more work outfits. My black jeans are just a little dusty. I will do laundry this weekend. I’m nearly sure of it.
It’s not just stuff around the house, he’s part of my not work life.
Not work life is my favorite, but it definitely loses it’s fucking sparkle when Randy is gone.
The only saving grace is Netflix. I can binge Doctor Who without Randy bitching. I don’t even have to skip the Dalek episodes. The Daleks make Randy as angry as the Zombie song.
Since I am me, it’s not reasonable to expect my simple plan of not doing laundry and watching Netflix to transpire as expected. The not doing laundry part went off without a hitch. I successfully combated all urges to go down in the basement where the spiders are to do laundry.
I couldn’t find Be Boop.
Be Boop is what we’ve named the Roku remote because that’s the sound it makes.
I called Randy.
Me: I lost Be Boop.
Randy: Well, that’s going to fuck up your plans.
Me: Right? Am I supposed to sit around with nothing on TV like Laura Ingalls?
Turns out Be Boop was under the sheets on Randy’s side of the bed. If he had been home then I would say what I always say. “Are you laying on it?” Randy would say yes and then the mystery would be solved. It took longer to find it because I am a creature of habit and since Randy is gone, I didn’t get to the “are you laying on it” part.
See? I’m no good on my own.
So, do me a favor, would you? Tell someone you love that you love them. Right now. Don’t give them an explanation, just tell them you love them.
I wish Randy and I were together tonight. But we’re not. If y’all spread some love around, that would make me smile. That would be the best anniversary present. Even if I get my present two days late.
The picture is from the day we got married. We are surrounded by our witnesses and spare witness. We never saw any of them again. It would be cool if I had a sinister story, but really it’s because they were strangers who we we asked to be our witnesses.