Yesterday was my tenth wedding anniversary.

I shit you not.

It’s been TEN years of sleeping squashed-up on one side of the bed.

TEN years of having my ass randomly slapped whenever I’m least expecting it (and somehow, I’m always least expecting it. Go figure.).

TEN years of “baby, baby, baby” and “Courtney, Courtney, Courtney…”

TEN years of “rub my back” and “fix me a sandwich, please…”

TEN years of “can we listen to something else?” and “oh god, not General Hospital again…”

TEN years of “…but it’s hunting season…”

TEN years of “My mom does it like this…”

TEN years of “Remember how we used to do it four or five times a day…”

TEN years of dirty socks on the floor.

TEN years of football and trucks and… dirt.

TEN years of “But mo-om honey, I really want that…”

TEN years of “What’s so damn special about [insert Clive Owen or similarly hot British actor here]?”

TEN years of… burping.

TEN years of dirty looks and dirty looks.

TEN years of “put that book down and go to sleep, already…”

TEN years of “it’s your turn, I did it last…”

TEN years of “where did you put my…”

TEN years of “Of course, I’m listening to you… I just, ummmm, missed that last part…”

TEN years of “Stop telling people that we met at bar named Fat Woody’s… It’s embarrassing…”

TEN years of “Sure I’ll be home in time…”

TEN years of “It looks the same to me…”

TEN years of “I don’t know… Where do you want to eat?”

TEN years of “Stop calling my childhood deprived just because I haven’t seen Sixteen Candles…”

TEN years of “I have no idea what you’re talking about…”

TEN years of “Repeat that? I don’t understand you when you speak in bitch…”

TEN years of “Starbucks is NOT a necessity…”

TEN years of “What phone should I buy this week?”

TEN years of “You sound like your mother…”

TEN years of married life.

TEN years.

I shit you not.

And I’ve enjoyed every minute most of it.

(It’s those damn dirty socks, I tell ‘ya. I mean, seriously? What’s so difficult about picking up your own socks? Do I look like I want to pick up your nasty socks off of my bedroom floor? Like I suddenly woke-up one morning and thought, “My life would be complete if I could just find a pair of dirty socks to carry to the laundry!” Like I think housework is fun or something? Or that my one job on this Earth is to clean-up after you and your stinky feet? Ummmm… I don’t think so. And you did have a deprived childhood… C’mon, everybody has seen Sixteen Candles. How in the hell are you going to get my pop culture references if you haven’t seen Sixteen Candles? And I picked the restaurant last week, so it’s your turn. And Clive Owen is hot. And Starbucks is too a necessity. Are you calling me a bitch? ‘Cause it sounds like you just called me a bitch. And I am NOT like my mother… Happy Anniversary, Mr. Shakespeare. If I had to do it all over again, I probably would.)