Sweet Sixteen

Yeah, this goofy person and I got married 16 years ago today, at City Hall in Manhattan, in a ceremony attended by half a dozen friends and relatives. Not a real wedding, more like a formality so he could fulfill his 90-day fiance visa. We keep thinking someday, maybe nine years hence for our 25th, we'll have a real party. But for now, the marriage itself is the party. I love the fact that we finish each other's sentences - or, more accurately, say the same sentences at the same moment. We've done that since we met online in the days of Usenet and IRC. I first asked him to marry me when he tried to explain to fellow comics folks that The Empire Strikes Back (which everyone except us looooves so much) wasn't actually a movie as much as a chapter. I love his amazing artistic talent, it gives me chills to watch him sketch at conventions or come home and see what's on his drawing board. (One traditional 16th anniversary gift is wax, and he's done a lovely portrait of us on wax paper while I've looked in vain for a stupid candle or something.) I love that he pushes himself, even when he's not feeling well, to come into Manhattan and have dinner with me, as he's done two nights running now, or to schlep into the wilds of Jersey or Connecticut to see family and friends. I love how he takes care of the house and the kitty. I love that we laugh so much, even when we're arguing. It's like we can't even work up a good seethe without cracking up. I love that he's more of a Beatles aficionado than I am. I love just staying home and being with him. He's my best friend and we have the best time alone together. I love his thoughtfulness, his kindness, his intelligence, his humor and I've pretty much said all the stuff I thought I was saving for his birthday on Saturday. Oh, and his youth, because until Saturday he's five years younger than me. :) Happy anniversary, my darling.