Thirteen

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Thirteen years ago, I married that serious looking fella above.  It was a  little surprising for me to marry such a quiet, contemplative dude, given that I’m basically a loud-mouth Italian. But hey, it works and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t thank my lucky stars that we found eachother.

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Mr. Wild Dingo has been a rock through my illness, literally holding me up when I’m wobbly and picking me up when I fall. He doesn’t wax poetic, coddle, panic or dramatize. Instead, he gives me exactly what I need: time and space to recover, with no pressure or deadlines. In many ways, his type of support has helped me stand on my own two feet.

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We don’t have a lot of photos of us together these past few years, so I dug around and a found a few early photos from when we dated. In all our photos, I seem to have that peaceful, faraway look. It’s all him.  I mean, tranquility radiates from his core. It’s hard not to feel serene standing next to him. Or am I  just totally diggin’ on those round specs? It’s true: girls make passes at boys who wear glasses.

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The year before our wedding, we took ball room dance lessons. I swear Internet, it was his idea. He really threw himself into it. “Must not drop the fiancé!”

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Typically, Mr. Wild Dingo no longer questions my sudden onset of sickness. He’ll turn off the music if I ask him to, no questions asked and wait on me when necessary. But he’s human. A week ago, I was standing in the kitchen and a wave of nausea suddenly hit me. I asked Mr. Wild Dingo to finish watching the dinner in the oven while I went to lay down. Then I asked him to bring me the green bucket, just in case that 20% chance of barfing would occur. “You don’t need the green bucket,” he complained. “Fine,” I told him, “give me your shoe.”  He opted to bring me the bucket. It’s really hard to argue with this guy.

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Happy Anniversary Mr. Wild Dingo! May our next 13 years be filled with more joy, laughter and tranquility.

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