So the Obamas, dressed to the nines, celebrated their 17th anniversary this weekend. I was somewhat surprised. Only 17 years? Pssssshhhh. Rookies, I tell ya. Yes, it’s admirable, and probably an enigma these days to even be married that long, but in my eyes, they’re just babes in the woods.
Their daughters are still cute, innocent little things, all ribbons and bows. The worst thing they probably deal with at this point is whether to let them listen to Taylor Swift or Kanye, and to make sure they don’t go to school dressed like Lady Gaga.
But the Obamas are still in that honeymoon stage of their marriage if’n ya ask me. I’m no expert, but I feel there are a few telltale signs when you’ll be pretty sure you’ve kicked this antiquated institution’s ass.
For instance, I don’t think you’re really there yet:
- If you haven’t played fart-and-pull-the-sheet-over-your-head.
- If you still cringe when he blows a huge lumberjack sneeze in the shower.
- If you still get embarrassed when he walks around naked and the cleaning lady shows up.
- If you still don’t believe in the saying “opposites attract.”
- If you still don’t accept his idea of a candelit dinner only happening when the power goes off.
- If you still wonder why his hand is always scratching something, instead of holding yours.
- If you haven’t realized that your husband is living proof that you can take a joke.
- If you haven’t realized that in marriage, as in war, it is acceptable to take advantage of the enemy.
Sometimes people ask The Mister and I the secret of our long marriage. It’s really not rocket science. We take the time to go to a restaurant on a date at least once a week, have a nice dinner, and sometimes listen to soft music and go dancing.
He goes on Tuesdays…I go on Fridays.