Friday, July 23, 2010

Our Tenth

The Mr. has put up with me as his Mrs. for ten years now.

He should be applauded.

The Mr. always has my back.

He's not afraid to fall on the sword.
Often times he takes the fall when, in fact, it should be me.

The Mr. is nerdishly sexy.
My favorite kind of sexy.

He has no problem with me being in charge of the remote control or the iPod.

He'll defend me and our little family.
No matter what.
At whatever cost.

Despite being together for a decade, he still unabashedly flirts with me.

He listens.
Just listens.
Sometimes that's all you need.

He refuses to act his age.
In a good way.

The Mr. is my biggest cheerleader.
He believes that I can do anything.

He spoons.
Every single night.

He's a drummer in a rock band.
...that's hot.

There's not one meal that I've cooked, be it good or bad, that he hasn't thanked me.

He wants to give me the world.

He still wears Chuck Taylors, Vans, and Levi's.
You'll never catch him in a golf shirt.

I love his hands.
And his smile.

He kills bugs that I know would otherwise fly in my hair.

He's really smart.
And talented.

I know that we can work out anything.
Because we always do.

The Mr. cheers for my teams.
He has watched countless games with me.
He slaps high-fives when winning and consoles me through losses.

He doesn't expect sexy lacy lingerie.
He's fine with cotton.

He is always trying to be a better friend, husband, and father.

I don't get it, but he finds me more attractive now than when I was younger.
And I adore him for this.

We are better now than ever before.

We are twin high maintenance machines.
We get each other.

And since this post is full of mush, I'll add a cherry on top.

For The Mr.:

Happy Anniversary, love.

You are tops.