There are two kinds of people in the world:
- People who think 13 is an unlucky number and should be avoided like giant hornets lest bad things occur, driving you to sink into the Pit of Despair, Pennilessness, and Wailing
- People who totally heart the number 13 and plot out eccentric plans to celebrate their love for it, including concocting unique ways to arrange thirteen candles on a 13-shaped layer cake every 13th month.
Not surprising given my tendency to lean contrarian, I’m a firmly entrenched #2 type of guy.
Wait. No. Not like, number 2, #2. Because, well, because. No, I mean, of the two types of people with regard to the number thirteen, I’m in the second group. That is, I love 13 bunches and bunches and bunches.
For instance, my first “winning” moment in Vegas? I was throwing money away at roulette until I hit on 13, thus paying me back enough to buy gas for the drive home. (Oh, and I was 22 at the time, so of course questionable decisions like gamble with the gas money seemed Perfectly Reasonable. Sometimes I wonder at the fact that any of us survive our twenties and suspect that could possibly be taken as evidence of a Higher Power in the universe.)
At any rate, I have always really liked the number 13. A lot. So I consider myself extra lucky today because it’s been exactly 13 years since the Puddinette and I exchanged I do-s.
Believe it or not, I will refrain from going on a (too-)many-worded ramble about my marriage, or your marriage, or, well, any marriage. I covered my marriage in 2010 (maybe still my favorite post ever), and marriage in general in 2011, and my thoughts on either haven’t changed much in the time since.
That said, I will, however, amend my marital suggestions with one additional piece of advice. When on the hunt for that special someone to spend your days and nights with year after year, try your best to find a complement rather than someone who matches your thoughts and likes exactly. A good complement will provided balance, a half of Yang to your half Yin. For instance, the Puddinette keeps me from living in a cesspool of my own malodorous filth, and I generally help keep her from a spiraling descent into obsessive fretfulness over the mole hills of life. See? It’s symbiosis at work!
However, when two people who are too much alike decide to go it together, well, sometimes it just amplifies Teh Crazy. Imagine if you married someone who shared your compulsive love of all things My Little Pony. In 10 years of marriage, you’re likely to have two whole guest bedrooms filled with plastic ponies just begging to have their flowing turquoise manes brushed. Also, you likely never would have had that key discussion about whether or not it was reasonable to mortgage the house again for that unopened 1989 Collector’s Edition Daisy Dancer Pony.
So, with a heart filled with both less than threes* and thanks that I found the perfect woman to foil my craziness, I say this:
Happy Anniversary, Querida. Thank you for being my wife and for continually putting up with my sloth, my snore, and my ridiculous dreamer’s soul.
iTe amo con todo mi corazon! iTe amo mas que tango las palabras!
May our next 13 years together be as wonderful—and interesting—as these first thirteen.
*that is: <3’s