on marriage

Husband and I got married on our five year dating anniversary. It wasn’t that the date was entirely sentimental to us — all we did on July 25th, 2005 was dry hump on his couch — we just decided it was better to only have to remember one relationship date in the calendar year. Geniuses we are.

We’ve been married for… 12 years. I did actually have to do the math there. 12 years. Wow. Is that good? So, married for 12 years. Together for 17. I have been with that man half my life. I think. Half 34 is 17 isn’t it? I can’t believe that.

I remember our first proper date quite clearly. When he arrived to pick me up I was still in pyjamas - a deliberate attempt to appear casual. He wore his Matrix-esque trench coat and thongs (thongs!) and I was so embarrassed to be seen out in public with him but, also, really desperate for sex. So desperate for sex, in fact, that I decided to wait 4 weeks to bone the guy.

The first time we had sex I got so drunk on beer mixed with guarana that I vomited on his carpeted bedroom floor and he had to clean me off in the shower. I knew he was pretty special when I told him about my life and he put his hand over mine but cleaning me off and putting me to bed was pretty special too.

We’ve had periods where we thought we would get divorced. We’ve had periods where other people entered our marriage. There’s been three year long lies. There’s been shit. But, for some reason, and, maybe it was fate, we were able to separate that as the things we did as husband and wife and we were able to remain friends. Friends who fucked. And we always came back to each other and talked out our shit and called each other out on the bullshit.

He loves me for who I am. His ability to love me through my darkest moments made me realise I was worthy of love. I help him come out of his shell. That man will do anything for me. He dances in public, uses the c-word, and sings along to my songs in the car. He lets me use his tummy as a sad resting place. He stands with me while I shower and share my random, and most intellectual, shower thoughts with him. He loves me for exactly who I am. Even those really annoying bits.

I remember the night after our wedding he called me a bitch, in that perfect endearing way that I love to call people bitches and cunts in, and I realised I had made the right decision. He is my best friend in the actual best friend way and not that way people say their partner is their best friend when, actually, they don’t tell each other shit. He hears all my secrets. He laughs at me because I can’t keep a straight face when I lie. He watches superhero movies with me but understands I will never watch war movies with him. He reminds me to text people so I can keep up the pretence that I actually have feelings and am not an alien. He lets me take the lead in parenting because I’m better at it.

If you can marry your best friend who you also like to have sex with well, then, marriage… I highly recommend it.