4 Years/17 if You Count from the Beginning

Four years ago today, we laid in the grass and took this photo. 

Really profound.

It was also the day we sealed the deal officially, and got married on our lucky 13th anniversary. Finally, my parents could stop fielding questions from all our Asian relatives and friends about WHY Vicky still hasn't gotten married. (Tsk tsk.)

I don't make it a big practice of getting totally ooey gooey in this space, but looking back on the many, many years we've been together, I know I will never win the mega millions jackpot. One person can not have THAT much good luck. I've already won the lottery of life with the greatest partner and co-conspirator I could have. I found my matching puzzle piece and I'm grateful for you everyday. Even when I get snippy about how you never replace the soap in the shower, even though proportionally, you have way more surface area and you use it up faster and therefore ought to be morally responsible for putting in a fresh bar. And no, the tiny sliver you've carefully balanced on the top of my body scrub jar does not count.

There are so many "best" parts of our relationship: the way you laugh at my inappropriate jokes, the way you get everything about me and can explain why other people don't, the kilter you restore to keep me balanced, the easy way you navigate our ship, and the father you are to Emmy. The triple doubles. 

I asked you the other day why some couples don't work and why you think we have, over so much time, so much distance, and so many challenges. Your answer was spot on. We've had 17 years of growing up to do, and we did it together. We chose to do it together. To go through the growing pains and to cherish and celebrate the triumphs. We are who we are because of each other. And Kesha.

I am profoundly happy and grateful and full of a love that keeps growing. And you so better never die before me because I want to push your wheelchair around and race you on my Rascal when we're 102. 

Happy Anniversary to my best friend and co-captain in life. I love you now and always.

My Type

The Good Doctor. Obvi. If you didn't already get that from this post and this post and that post. To loosely quote Outkast: He's my one and only forevah evah evah. Forevah evah evah? Forevah evah evah. And he's good at lots of things.

But come on, being married and monogamous and all the other m words doesn't mean you can't recognize hotness. Remember Number 9? I'm still looking for that motor skills ho. I will SHOW HER some motor skills.

Hotness comes in strange forms for me. But I have to tread lightly here. Not because I'm worried about being outed for recognizing hotness this week while on employment duties. And telling my friends who were all, "Umm, really? Hmm." That's the least of my concerns. I just don't want to be put in a WWF hold while being tickled within an inch of my life by The Good Doctor's other hand.

And really, is it so wrong to say other people are cute once you are married? I mean, I think honesty is the best policy, so I always tell The Good Doctor when I run across hotness. "I would totally hit that. 9 o'clock. No, MY 9 o'clock."

Kidding. It's much less polite than that.

No really. I do always tell him when I think someone is good looking. I'm a sharer. An over sharer even. But I definitely don't hide things. It's not in my nature. If I do think someone is goooood looking, The Good Doctor is the first to know. And be sent a Google image link of said person if said person is on the Internets.

What I do like is a smartie. Nerd smart. With glasses. I am thinking of cutting all Vitamin A out of The Good Doctor's diet so his eyes will age sooner and he will need glasses. He looks HOTT in glasses. No talking. Just look at me and smile.

And boyish. Not weird 12 year old boy-ish but devil may care boyish. Non-hairy arms and a nice sensible haircut. And short fingernails.

I'm not one for the gruff and grizzled. Although I will make an exception to say Mike Rowe is lovely to look at and listen to. He is a man's man and woman's man all in one manly package.  

And lanky. Some women go for the muscles. Now, I'm not saying if Daniel Craig showed up on my doorstep chins would not drop. But The Situations of the world need not apply. Brain muscles are so much sexier. 

And eye contact. Not stare me down like it's an interrogation. But pleasant, look-me-in-the-eye-not- boobs contact when you're talking to me and saying intelligent interesting things I have not heard before. Who doesn't think that is refreshing and appealing?

Inevitably when I meet people like that who are not wearing the wedding ring, I immediately think, "Why are you not snatched up by some ladyfriend?" And then I think, "Is my gaydar on the fritz? You can not be this cute and not married. Unless you are gay. Hmmmm."

So I told The Good Doctor about all these things I was reminded of and how he had all those things way back in 9th grade, on some nascent level, buried under the forest green "No Fear" hoodie and baggy basketball shorts when he was 6' 5" and 165lbs. Yes, I will dig up that basketball picture of Skeletor and post it here.

Happily I married My Type. I just like to point out to him that are others of his kind out there. In case Number 9 tries to bust out some motor skills in my vicinity.

Sweethearts

You know what just really gets in my craw? I mean wedged up in there like real real tight?

When people blather on about stuff they are supposedly experts in. Like relationships.

OK, so I've been with The Good Doctor since geometry. But that doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two when it comes to male female relations. Especially as it pertains to the reeee-lations. Giddy up, yeee haaaaaw!

I got all Suthern' for a minute but back to my rantmeme. Please don't look down your nose and say, "You know, statistics show high school sweethearts have the highest rate of divorce." Because first of all, your relationship history is no shining star-filled night sky. You've been divorced. And separated. And you still have issues. And you love to spout "facts" about all sorts of things that seem rather outlandish and unverified. And normally I just nod and pretend it's all so interesting but I don't take kindly to snide remarks about my marriage.

Mark Twain said, "There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics" for a reason.

Besides, even if that statistic about high school sweethearts was true, think about the reasons it might be true. Do high school sweethearts marry sooner? Do they defer or abandon further education? Did they have a shotgun wedding to avoid having a baby out of wedlock? There are lots of factors why high school sweetheart marriages may not last.

Which I pointed out. And was promptly told, "Well, never say never."

Thanks Doucher. But I will totally tempt fate on this one. NEVER.

The Good Doctor is my B to the FF. My bestie over the restie. He is the reason I will never win Mega Millions. Because I have already won the Husband Lottery. It's so morbid to think about death and what you would do if your husband ever died, but I do. And I think I would never get re-married. I might pull an Angelina Jolie and have luvahs but I would just keep calm and carry on. Solo style. It would just be Emmy and me. Surrounded by pictures of The Good Doctor. OK, not all creepy like that but I really don't think I could ever get over it.

I am grateful every single day that I found my puzzle piece, the one that interlocks exactly with mine, and so what if I found him when I was still eating bagel dogs for lunch? If you meet The One and it always feels right and you grow and change and constantly feel like you're a better person because he's in your life, GIDDYUP and go right the fack on your merry way.

Besides, does this not look like FOREVER AND EVER LOVE????

Senior prom. The theme was "Crazy Love."

How appropriate that turned out to be.

Update on 03.25.2010 by Vicky Nguyen

This is an interesting article about man brains that is semi-related to my post.