W and I celebrated our anniversary yesterday.
We decided not to exchange gifts. I don’t need another power tool, and she doesn’t need another piece of jewelry. Besides, money is tight for us right now.
We’ll celebrate some other night with dinner out and maybe a movie when the kids aren’t around. No matter how you slice it, Tuesdays at our house aren’t very romantic.
I thought I would post something sweet about W as a makeshift gift. You know, “10 Things I Love About You” or “Why I’d Do It All Over Again,” but I couldn’t really think of anything new to say or a creative way to spin it. If you are a frequent reader of this blog, you know that I gush over W on a regular basis.
Also, here for more gushing prose.
And then it hit me — the post that I need to write.
The thing about W and I is that we say nice things to each other all the time. She always tells me that she loves me with a sigh. Not one of those heavy, exasperated sighs but one of those you-still-make-my-toes-curl sighs. She thanks me for finding her on match.com, for cooking dinner, for making the boys’ birthdays special.
Me, I tell her that she smells good (’cause she does) and that I still find her sexy as hell. Before we turn in, I always kiss her good night and tell her that I love her.
I always worry that the “love yous” will fade and grow thin from overuse like carpet in a hallway. But the truth is that you can never have too much love or too many “love yous.” They’re important. It’s the stuff that you don’t say that ends up fading, and by then it’s too late anyway.
So, I’m glad that W and I don’t leave much unsaid. Which means that I don’t have to play catch up on anniversaries and other special occasions.
She knows that I love her, and I know that she loves me. It sounds kind of uneventful, but that’s the way that we like it.