Mawwiage… That bwessed awwangement, that dweam wivin a dweam…

{Today is my wedding anniversary.}

Our officiant was a little less . . . embroidered.

Our officiant was a little less . . . embroidered.

I have been reflecting this week on my history with my husband.

We have a unique relationship.

I know,  I know…  That’s what everybody says, right?  Everyone is speshul.  (Which, to borrow a quote from Dash in the movie The Incredibles, is just another way of saying nobody is.)

But really and truly, I believe ours is a unique relationship.

Because we’re friends.

We met at a bus stop on a frozen February afternoon 12 years ago.  By a fluke of scheduling, we saw each other there for three days in a row.

On the third day, I gave him my phone number.  Later, I found out that the day he got my digits was his birthday.  (I remain the best birthday present he has ever received.)  And the rest, as they say, is history.

🙂

We didn’t start as lovers.  We didn’t ‘hook up’ (as the kids are calling it these days).  There was no one-night-stand that turned into a many-night-stay.  We didn’t hit the hay and then later stare at each other blankly over dinner chewing our cud, trying to figure out what we might have in common besides a penchant for orgasms.

We knew all that before we went to bed.  Or at least had made decent headway.

Because…

GASP!

We’d spent time together.  We’d gotten to know each other.  We were safe in one another’s presence.

No, it's true! Our current incarnation was conceived in friendship.

No, it’s true! Our current incarnation was conceived in friendship.

We were friends.

We are friends.  First, foremost, and always.

Keeping friendship the basis of our relationship is what has gotten us through some hairy (and furry) situations.

Shortly after we got married (I proposed to him – I may have mentioned that before), we lived in a tiny abode (under 600 square feet), with first one, then later three, rescue animals.  We stayed there for just over five years, during which time we managed a variety of crises – some more serious than others – and we handled each one as friends.  Partners.  No blaming, no anger (well, there was anger… but it was at the situation, not at each other), and no shirking of responsibility.  And not only did we survive (and thrive) in that situation, but we still liked each other after having had virtually no personal space for approximately 2,000 days.

And throughout that time – that settling in time, that setting down roots time – we didn’t argue.

We don’t argue, even now.

Not that we don’t hurt each other’s feelings.  Or that there is no miscommunication between us.  Because we do.  There is.  We are each guilty of taking the other for granted.  We have both spent nights snapping at each other because we’ve exhausted our patience on other people throughout the day.  We’ve each had times where we’ve been careless and thoughtless and selfish and proud, and all of those transgressions have to be acknowledged.  The wrongs have to be righted.  We do the best we can, and we don’t always agree on what’s best.  We are far from perfect.

But we don’t argue.

(With one notable exception, and it had to do with how I voted.  Don’t.EVEN. get.me.STARTED.)

But really, other than that…

We don’t argue.

Unless it’s about something really important.  Like when, exactly, they are going to finish the bridge construction on this damned island.  Or whether Bob Dylan would have benefited from an image consultant in the ’60s.  Or if we should just ditch the Astroglide and go back to using Wet, or maybe try Jo lube.  You know…  The BIG stuff.  That’s what we ‘argue’ about.  (It’s called discussion, people.  Yeesh.  You should try it some time.)

We don’t take each other too seriously.

Not that we don’t each care about the other’s thoughts, feelings, expectations, or desires.  We do.  But…  We have fun.  We laugh.  We do silly things and admit our human-ness and make each other smile.  We enjoy one another’s company.

I will stand in the middle of the kitchen, stomp my foot and yell like a two-year-old to get his attention, regardless of where he might be inside (or outside) the house.  “Smotch-eeeee!” I will shout.  And he will appear from wherever he was hiding, blinking and befuddled and say, “You bellowed?”  (Nobody understands the point of this exercise except the two of us.)

You're right. I'm fairly certain 'that word' means something else entirely. At least to US it does.

You’re right. I’m fairly certain ‘that word’ means something else entirely. At least to US it does.

We speak our own language.

My little sister once accused us of speaking Ewok.

Well…  We do.

But beyond that, we speak other messages – on other levels – in a language all our own.

I suspect, to a degree, everyone in an intimate relationship (or at least everyone in an intellectually or emotionally intimate relationship) eventually develops an intimate register for communication.  Words and phrases that come to mean something – to mean something more – between two people, but that often leave the average (outside) person stumped.

The radio will go a little nuts, suddenly static-y and full of interference, and I will say, “Your alien baby is trying to contact you again.”

I put my hair up in claw clips, and when I can’t find one, I say, “Where’s my cock cage?” and he knows exactly where to look.  (Feel free to make your own inferences.)

Kisses are moochies.

We give each other huggages and buggages.

When he’s being too squirmy during a cuddle, I say “Stop the move-y!”

We don’t call anything by its proper name, including ourselves.  He has been “Smotch” for years, and he, in turn, has a variety of names for me.  Duchess (Dutch for short), Smuchess (Smutch), Farm Girl, Orgasmic Girl, and Vicious McLicious to name a few.

We have built a lexicon over a dozen years, constructed from moments tiny and strange, and the smallest word between us is never ever small at all.

And the little words – those three little words – are giants.

And I don’t say (slay?) them nearly often enough:

Brush your teeth.

Heh.  Kidding, I’m kidding…  I say ^those^ three little words plenty often.  Every morning, in fact.  It’s a requirement if he wants to kiss me.

😉

But, in all seriousness…

Those three giant words?  I meant them the first time I said them.  And I still mean them today.

So to my Smotchy – my chosen husband, my life partner, my trusted friend – on our wedding anniversary:

I LOVE YOU.

You make lovin’ fun.

And you’re still The One.

0 thoughts on “Mawwiage… That bwessed awwangement, that dweam wivin a dweam…

  1. kdaddy23

    Happy anniversary to the both of you! You guys sound like me and Linda – we never argue, we have our own secret language, and the people who know us just keep wondering how and why we always have so much fun with each other and, yep, they think we’re crazy.

    Reply
    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      Thank you. 🙂

      We’ve figured out along the way how to maintain our individuality but still remain a unit. It throws people. But it keeps us interesting to each other, and curiosity about your partner is where the magic starts. 😉

      Reply
  2. wildoats1962

    Happy Anniversary! Adam and Eve used to sell “Slippery Stuff” in a quart bottle. Haven’t bought any in a long long time.

    My wife’s family bickers. I was not used to that. They argue over trivial little bullshit, but they don’t take the arguing seriously. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnTmBjk-M0c

    The first five minutes is kind of amusing, but it gets old fast.

    We each need a lot of space, but it works better that way.

    Reply
    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      Bickering – the kind that is mean spirited and is about proving superiority or displaying disdain – drives me nuts. o_O

      Have you ever seen the movie, The Ref? My God, the beginning is hilarious but completely horrifying… ‘Bicker’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. *shudder*

      Everyone has to figure out what works for them; no two relationships are the same. You and your wife have figured out how to be together but maintain your own space. There’s a lot of trust in that. There’s also a lot of freedom.

      If I ever found a perfect lube, I’d buy a gallon jug. Usually when we find one that works with my body chemistry, it’s either (a) been discontinued, or (b) been “improved” to a “new formula” when we next get around to stocking up. Grrr!

      Reply
    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      Thank you! 🙂

      We’re far from perfect but we complement each other really well. I appreciate what we have together.

      And yes, that movie is fabulous! 😀

      Reply
  3. wildoats1962

    Haven’t seen the Ref. Their bickering was like the Monty Python sketch, incessant and totally trivial but subject to polite interruption if an answer was actually needed. They’re both gone now, but that’s what they’re remembered for.

    Reply
        1. Mrs Fever Post author

          You’re welcome! Glad you liked. 🙂

          Feel free to post the link to that post here if you want. (And we’ll have to have a chat some day about Portland.)

          Reply
  4. Jamie Ray

    I can’t imagine being in a relationship with someone who I wouldn’t want as my best friend – I need someone I can joke around with and make inside jokes with.
    One of our previous couple’s therapists said that what kills a marriage is when one person harbors contempt for the other – and I now know to be on the lookout for that and to address any inklings of it right away before it takes root.
    Congrats to you both.

    Reply
    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      Thanks, Jamie. 🙂

      That is so true! One of the things we’ve been diligent about from the beginning is being honest with each other about our feelings. We get it out if something’s bothering one of us. Otherwise, holding it in can lead to deeper (unnecessary!) hurts and cause resentment. It’s a common ailment in long term relationships. And resentment breeds contempt. It’s something that requires vigilence to prevent.

      Reply
  5. secretthots

    a wonderful ode and testament to friendship and love… thank you for this. i needed to read this tonite. congratulations – may the years ahead continue to feed and fuel you in the ways you both need. xo

    Reply
  6. kirizar

    Must be a time of nostalgia. Reading this made me think of my husband. Gone these lo many years, but the nicknames and secret language. You betcha. It made our world go round. Hug yours twice, for me.

    Reply
    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      It always makes me happy to hear about relationships like yours. I’m sorry for your loss.

      I will definitely hug my hubby for you. I may even get in a smooch or two, for good measure. 😉

      Thanks for visiting. I hope all is going well with your hip and your house. 🙂

      Reply

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