Today is the 1-year anniversary of when I got married. Sorry, but I’m about to get all lovey-dovey. It’s for my husband, not you, so don’t puke your breakfast by reading on. (Unless you want to, of course — read on, I mean. Not puke your breakfast.)
One year ago today, my Frenchman and I said our vows in a city hall in the middle of the German countryside. We didn’t have a wedding. We haven’t had a honeymoon. Those things will happen one day, when we have the money and the time. A year ago, we simply wanted to get married because…well…we love each other. And it felt right.
And so today’s post is for my Frenchman.
You’ve been the most supportive and amazing husband, and I thank you for it. When I’m sick, you rush to the Apotheke for medicine. When I’m tired (read: lazy), you do the housework all by your lonesome. When I’m hungry, you cook an elaborate and delicious French dish. When I’m sad, you cheer me up with your goofy antics. When I’m happy, you laugh and smile with me. When I’m grumpy, you’re patient. When I get homesick, you buy me a flight home. When I speak bad German or French, you chortle and correct me.
When I couldn’t work in Germany, you gladly took over everything. When I wanted an Irish setter, you said, “Sure.” When I told you a year ago “I want to be a writer”, you said, “Okay. What do I need to do to help you make it happen?”
I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone. So thank you.
Happy Anniversary, my darling Frenchman. Je t’aime.