Yup. It's my anniversary today. The husbeast and I have been married for twenty years. I feel like the occasion should be marked by some huge, big deal. But even if it were, I'd still be left feeling like... what? How did this happen? It didn't FEEL like twenty years. (Which, according to the husbeast's grandfather, means you're doing it right. When twenty years feels like an eternity, it's time for divorce.) We had a conversation that went something like this, the other night:
HIM: What's the gift for twenty years?
HIM: Huh. What about twenty five?
ME: Electronics. And maybe some fiber.
HIM: Uh huh. Right, then.
We're going out for dinner, tomorrow, kid-less, which is something of an event. We'll be sure to enjoy it. And that's another thing. A kid? A cat? A HOUSE? When did this get to be a settled family? Shouldn't we have 2.5 children and a dog? Wait. WHAT?
Twenty years. Where in HELL does the time go?