The Wonder of You

This woman's name is not Pepper Nix. I wouldn't stand for it!
Happy nine year anniversary to me! And, I guess, to my wife too. We have to share everything anymore. This post is a brief tribute to my Shannon, who most of you like better than me. And for good reason. She's nice, she shares her stuff, and she won't call you a prairie dog behind your back. Not that I would either, I mean, gosh, you're not anything like a prairie dog, right? Except you live in a house and sometimes you smell outside to see what's going on. But that is all you have in common with prairie dogs. Period. I just stomped my foot while I said that.

When Shannon married me, she looked way hotter and more regal than that stupid pampered princess chick from England. And she didn't mind that my dad thought her name was Sharon. Or that I wore a visor to school. And thought it looked cool.

On our wedding day, sun rays danced off puffy white clouds during pictures, hail beat against our windshield on the way to lunch, and the thunderheads split apart under the dazzling stare of the evening sun, showering our reception with clean, bright sunshine. We smiled a lot. And kissed a little. But only when we had to. Worst thing about weddings: you have to kiss a girl over and over again in front of your parents. And your grandparents. And anyone else who happens to walk by and feels like stopping to watch two kids get forced to make out.

Now we're a little older. Just a smidgen. We still kiss a little. But only in front of our parents, because we never want to leave the magic of our wedding day behind.

Shannon is a priceless locket full of goodness. She's even more priceless than I thought she was nine years ago. And don't go calling me out about how something can't be more or less priceless because once something is priceless, that's it -- it can't be more or less priceless. Look, if you're new to my blog, this is a magic place where I just say stuff and then it's right. So I say Shannon is more priceless now than she was then. And I'm right. So sit down and get all snuggly with your logic. I hope it keeps you warm at night. And I hope your grandma's watching while you and your logic get all frisky together. And I hope she hits you with her cane. On your shin and not in your groin. I don't actually want you to get hurt.

So, Shannon, we've had a good run. I like where this thing is going. How about we make it an even ten years next year, and then let's just keep cruising. The weather looks good. But even if it turns sour, we can roll up the windows and crank some Yanni to drown out the rain. I'd prefer something else, but, you know, whatever. Pick your battles. And... sorry this post is partly about getting frisky with logic in front of grandmas and not entirely about the wonder of you. It's hard for me to stay focused sometimes.