An open letter to my husband on our third anniversary.

My love,

Two nights ago, I walked into the family room to find you watching my least favorite sport ever, baseball (strike 1). You had thrown your socks across the room (strike 2). And you weren’t wearing any pants.

Strike 3, obviously.

You immediately acknowledged your pantless state, confiding that you found pants to be too restrictive during intense sports-watching times. And the socks? Well, you felt a fool for wearing dress socks with no pants. They had to go.

You were wearing undies of a non-tighty-whitey nature, and I noted no discernible stains. My only option was to laugh and laugh and laugh.

Then, you read me the restaurant health inspection violations from the paper.

If I had to venture a guess, I’d say that acceptance, laughter, and shared interests are key to our marriage. Sure, I don’t give 2 shits about baseball, but who doesn’t love a good restaurant health violation?

You surprise and delight me. I still can’t believe my good fortune. I think we should stay married.

Much like Paula Abdul, I’m forever your girl.

Love,
BB