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