Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64...

Today is my eighth wedding anniversary. Eight years ago right now,I was probably getting my hair done in a Burke, VA salon (what? you don't know where that is?), freaking about what the Virginia humidity would do to my up-do. Possibly doo-doo. I may have already carefully self-applied my makeup, or maybe not. I was very concerned with looking "normal," not overdone. Here's what I promise I was NOT doing right now on that day eight years ago: thinking about what it would be like to yoke my life forever to this kind, young man I met at a fraternity date function in 1994. Who at the time had long hair. And smoked Marlboro Reds. No joke.

Now that I write it, that is very odd that we don't really think much about marriage when we take the plunge. We just know what we want when we want it. How very childish of us. Then again, I did look pretty awesome in that dress. And the tiara. And the hair. Did I mention the hair? Think Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Almost. [Would post pics if we had any digital ones. But folks, that was way back in 2002. Who had digital cameras then??]

The fact remains that eight years later--no tiara in sight--I am still sleeping next to this guy. I'm raising kids with him. I'm dreaming with him about our future (in fact, I think we may have actually started dreaming in unison--about the same things). I'm getting really, very pissed at him for leaving dirty dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is empty, and for being more interested in the latest PGA Tour stats than what I was talking about.

But I digress.

In the end, the dishes don't matter and I can deal with the PGA. Here's when those things fall away, completely.