My Year At The Marriage

At our wedding, one of The Monk's aunts told me to make sure we set some of the wedding cake aside to eat on our one year anniversary. I hadn't considered doing so, or heard of such a thing before, so I looked to my new mother-in-law for her take on the matter. I could tell by her expression, a combination of "That's a great idea!" and "Dur! It's tradition!", that she was clearly in favour of the proposed cake-saving. I looked to my mother, and saw precisely what I expected to see: her expression was more along the lines of eye-rolling, and "Sure, whatever. Save some cake. Who cares?"

So we saved some cake, in a borrowed tupperware box that took up almost half of the freezer. Sub-zero real estate that that is highly valuable for its delightful vodka-chilling properties alone. But I wonder if the aunt who suggested that we save the cake would have been so enthusiastic if she had been able to see into the future exactly one year. If she knew that we would remember it at the last minute and, having thoughtfully put it in the fridge to thaw a few nights before, would pull it out of the fridge and eat it right out of the tupperware, over the sink, with a single fork passed back and forth, both in our pyjamas.

(Credit where credit is due, though: That cake was still as moist and delicious as it was the day we served it to our friends and family. Way to go, Dufflet's!)

And furthermore, when I said to The Monk, with my mouth full of yummy, defrosted year-old cake, "When we put this in the freezer for our first anniversary, this is not exactly how I pictured this moment," I swear to god, I though he was going to spew yummy, defrosted year-old cake out of his nose. And we laughed together, and then hugged each other. We said "Happy anniversary," and The Monk went to bed, and I stayed up to write this. And that's our one year anniversary. Oh, and before all of this cake nonsense happened, I went and saw Henry Rollins earlier tonight, and The Monk played his video game for almost four hours while I was gone. We are the pinnacle of modern romance.

In all fairness to our relationship, and to romantic love in general, we did have an actual day of anniversary celebration on Friday. We went to our favourite store, and spent a great deal of money (with some congratulatory freebies thrown in by the delightful owner -- Thanks, Magic Pony!), and went on to have a perfect dinner in a restaurant owned by the same man who foolishly allowed us to hold our wedding in his former restaurant (with some congratulatory freebies thrown in by our charming and gorgeous waitress -- Thanks, Andrea of Big Papa's Bordello!). Over the course of the evening, there was a lot (a lot a lot a lot) of saying "I love you," and looking meaningfully into each other's eyes. There was also a great deal of giggling afterwards because the antipasto made us both gassy, and we're eleven years old.

So that's what it's like to be married for a year. Giggling about farts, slowly filling up our apartment with plastic toys, and eating year-old cake over the sink. Plus a little bit of kissing, some marveling at how much fun we're both still having, and some honest-to-goodness amazement at how lucky I am to have found him.

To The Monk: Thanks for an awesome year, Monkey. Now come up with at least fifty more just like it, or I swear to god, I'm going to make you eat this cake again every year until then. I love you.