Ten years ago today, in a church somewhere in southeast Portland, I managed to stutter “I do” to the woman formerly known as Wendilynn Bailey in front of friends and family. Ten years later, I’m still “do”-ing.
Over the last decade Wendi and I have spawned two of the most wonderful children ever to walk the planet, moved at least a half-dozen times, owned three vehicles (or four, if you count my Subaru), argued thousands of times, kissed and made up almost as many times as that, and generally weathered most of the things life can throw at a young couple. We’ve never been rich, we haven’t always been happy, but we’ve always been together. On brightest day, in blackest night (to borrow a phrase) our stubborn refusal to give up has seen us through to a phase in our relationship where we actually like each other all over again.
What are we doing to celebrate, you ask? Probably just dinner and a movie. As I said, we’re not rich. Much as I’d love to do something flashy and expensive, since I lean in that direction anyway, I’ll have to settle instead for giving her the dubious gift of my continued company. Let’s hope it’s good enough for her.
I love you, Wendi. ‘Nuff said.
