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Yes, I’m a Hopeless Romantic

So, I’ve got an anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks. And, to start out the festivities, I went looking for a card today. Sheesh, what a miserable damned time that is.

(And I’ll pause here for a moment, to let you folks who may not have realized that I’m married — and are in shock that it could ever happen — catch your breath. Pick up those jaws, people. Daddy got himself nuptialized, baby. And without any chloroform involved, either. Honest. I don’t know how the hell it happened, either.)

Anyway, I happened to be in a drugstore today, so I looked for a card. And yes, ladies — the lavish gifts and elaborate plans and all that jazz are coming later. I’ll get to that the day before the anniversary, like I always do. And like every other husband who doesn’t want a high heel up his ass does, too.

So, I’m browsing through these cards, looking for something genuine, you know? Something from the heart, like I might write myself. I mean, not like anything I’d write here, of course. The poor girl lives with me; she doesn’t need a greeting card from me with the word ‘assbaggery‘ involved in any way. But still — maybe there’s a card out there that’s a little bit smartassy, in a sweet kind of way. That’s what I was thinking, anwyay.

But is that what I got? No. Decidedly not. No, at this particular store, there were only two kinds of anniversary cards that a guy could give his sweetheart. The first was for the Bible-thumping fundy crowd, as far as I could tell. They all had pictures with rays of light, shining through stormclouds, or faded roses in grandma vases, that sort of thing. And inside, they’d all say shit like:

‘My dearest wife —

Your husband.‘

Now, don’t get me wrong. I mean, I was looking for sort of a funny card, right? And that shit is hilarious — especially coming from me. But it’s a little much for an anniversary, I’m thinking. And if she doesn’t realize that it’s meant ironically, it’d probably scare the diapered-up baby bejeesus out of her. So those cards were no good.

The other kind of card wasn’t much better, though. Oh sure, they were meant to be funny and playful, but they were just frigging ridiculous. You’ve seen these cards, too. They’ve got cartoony little pictures of dogs or bears or cats or some other silly shit, and they represent the happy couple doing crap that we never do — going to movies, and hiking together, and playing with children… I mean, who does that shit? Hiking? Honky, please. I get winded fishing the last bit of ice cream out of the carton. Like I’m going to walk up a mountain. Never gonna happen.

Worse than that, though, is the poem that inevitably accompanies the silly pictures. It’s always hacky, and sappy, and completely inappropriate. I’m not handing my wife something that says:

‘Honey, we’ve been through thick and through thin;

Because I’m always yours, and you’re always mine!‘

I mean, come on. I love her dearly, but that’s just stupid. Nobody talks like that — not to their wife, not to their husband, not to their drooling baby children. It’s just asinine.

But, I had to get a card, and the fundy crap was just goddamned scary, so I did the best I could. I actually bought the card I just described, and made a couple of… edits. It’s still not quite what I was looking for, but my version’s a hell of a lot better, I think. Let’s see if you agree:

‘Honey, we’ve been through thick and through thin;

So drop those pants, baby, and let’s do sixty-nine!‘

See? Much better. I could write those things. Meanwhile, I’ll let you know in a couple of weeks whether I’m still married or not. I’m pretty sure she’ll dig the card, but you never know. I mean — women, right? Who can figure them out? Whoo.