I really wish I had more to offer him than "Happy Anniversary," and maybe, a, erm, celebratory activity when he gets home from work -- even though by then it'll be the next day.
But we don't have
But this is what I do. I write. Ramble. Tell. I tell way too damn much, according to him. Less telling is most definitely more in my husband's opinion. (Still, he'd known me for almost 15 years by our wedding, so you be the judge. Either that's not really his opinion, or he's not so good at thinking things through.)
So, I guess I can just tell. I'll give him a present by keeping it short: I love you.
Here, a commemorative shot, taken a few days ago. All the pictures I have of him are doing things with us, because that's who he is.
And, other readers, lest you think I'm long-suffering: I
You want proof we're meant for each other? The last time he admitted to checking me out in public, this is what I was doing (at the actual time of the checking out, seriously):
Happy Anniversary, Aaron.