Hubby and I celebrated our eighteenth wedding anniversary over the weekend. Not only does this make me sound really old, but what we did makes me sound even older--and just a fraction cracked.
Don't believe me? You might after I'm done writing this. And sorry in advance to my mom and hubby. Maybe.
So, what romantic activity did we engage in for our anniversary? A secluded retreat to a condo without the kids? A leisurely stroll along the fall colored mountain trails? A romantic candle-lit dinner? Um, no. We went bra shopping. Yup. My hubby loves me that much. It went something like this:
Me, showing hubby a newspaper advertisement for said clothing sale: Hey! Look! A sale!
Me: You want to go?
Hubby, just staring at me like I was a little cracked. (This happens more than you'd think it would. Strange.)
Me: Will you come with me?
Hubby: Do I have to stand in the bra department?
Me: No. You can go to housewares if you want.
Hubby secretly rolling his eyes. (It's secret because his actual physical eyes didn't roll, but I sensed the inner, mental rolling, because I can feel stuff like that.): Sure.
AND after I tortured him in the bra deptartment, Hubby took me to the book store. I left with two new books. Then he took me to dinner where he said this, "I have great respect for you."
And I said, "Respect?"
And he said, "Based on fear. I'm afraid you might bite me and I'll bleed out through my jugular."
See, isn't that romantic? And, yes mom, I am sorry for posting about bra shopping.
And, (just so I can start another sentence with and) I love you my awesome hubby.