The Marital Dip

My wedding anniversary is rapidly approaching. The concept of having an annual date to celebrate your union with the person who loves you more than anyone else in the world, is a lovely one indeed. In theory, this should be a date where romance is implied. A date for candles, flowers and hopefully, some skin on skin contact. A date for two people to gaze into each other's eyes and wax poetic about how lucky they were to have found one another.

Truthfully, this is a date that has all too often been overlooked in our home, what with the pitter-patter of small feet and the clamour of reality dimming the dewy romance of the day. Sure, we have observed the day. We have bought each other our obligatory Hallmark products, cracked open some wine (or beer in our younger days), and occasionally, we even went out for dinner. Together.

This year's date marks nine years of marital bliss. The bliss that comes with watching your mate put on an extra twenty pounds. Bliss that comes with witnessing your partner pick, wipe, floss, and scratch every orifice they have. Bliss from waking up and rolling over, only to be greeted by the most ferocious dog breath on the planet. And there is no dog in your bed.

But perhaps the most romantic bliss of all, is the fact that for nine years, Boo and I have shared a mattress. Twined our limbs together as we drifted off to slumber. For nine years, I have been lost to the great sag in the middle of the bed, that crevice I refer to as our Marital Dip. Three different matresses, and I am still fighting my way out of that crater on a nightly basis.

When I commented to Boo about this hollow in our bedroom, he was his romantic, thoughtful self. Seriously, dear internet, I get chills when I think of my loving husband's empathetic response.

Me: "You know, for nine years, every night, I am stuck in the pit of hell, because our mattress sags so bad. Perhaps we need a new one, maybe one of those memory foam ones." (See how rational I am?)

Hubs: "Nah, I don't think that will make any difference for you."

Me: "You don't think so? We have to do something. This sag is killing my back."

Hubs: "There's nothing you can do. You see, the indent would happen on any mattress."

Me: "Why, what do you mean?" (Oy, even I cringe at how I set myself up.)

Hubs: "Every mattress would still get that crater from your lard ass."

Needless to say, the hubs didn't get any last night, and he is sporting a few new bruises. This, my friends, is the reality of my marriage for nine years. This is the romance that I will get to celebrate when my anniversary rolls around next week.

I wonder if Hallmark makes cards to celebrate the union of the lardass to the dumbass?