Today is my three year wedding anniversary with Chuck. This year is the leather anniversary.
Mmmm, nothing says, "You still rock my world" like skinned animals.
In case you're interested, I thought I'd share the story of how we met. It goes like this:
In 1997, a boy named Pete had a crush on me. As we all know, crushes are often one way streets. I could never love Pete. His fingers resembled mini Jimmy Dean sausage links and he ate steak in a way that…let’s just say I could envision him at a steak house in 25 years with a gut that rivaled Mount Everest.
Pete is the boy I was with the night I met Chuck. And he knew Chuck liked me so he kept his stumpy hand across my chair all night so Chuck couldn’t move any closer to talk to me. Even more, when Chuck asked him for my number, he said no. So Chuck found out where he lived, went to his apartment under the guise of renting the spare bedroom and while Pete was in the bathroom, Chuck stole my number from his Rolodex (this was when the Rolodex was en vogue).
Chuck liked me that much.
Unfortunately, I had just graduated from college and ended a long-term relationship with some flaky eyebrows so I was on a bit of a man bender. A dating-five-guys bender.
When Chuck called the house (this was before cell phones, remember?), my brother left me the message: Chuck called. Who the hell is Chuck? Slut.
Little brothers are such gems, aren't they?
But he raises a good question, who the hell is Chuck?
I'll tell you: Chuck is incredibly patient, kind, loving and loyal. Chuck would give you the shirt off his back even if it was -30 degrees and he was freezing and he knew you were flying to Florida and didn't need his shirt. He's the kind of guy whose buddies get misty when they've had too much to drink and say, "That Chuck. He's such a great guy." He's a a party animal and ridiculously passive aggressive, but I love him to pieces. He's a hell of a good father. He still brings me flowers. He needs Odor Eaters.
I love him.
Happy leather year, Chuck.