Nine years ago today, we were in Las Vegas, getting married.
Today we are in Leicester, staying married.
Which is nice.
More than nice, actually. It’s bloody brilliant.
I like staying married to Jason. He’s my kind of husband. He kind of is my husband. I like that about him very much. In fact, it’s my favourite thing about him.
There are other favourite things about him too, some of which we were discussing with the kids in the car yesterday on our extremely long and rain filled journey from Bath.
He loves me. I know this, not just because I force him to kneel on pencils every day and confess it, but because of a million small things he does to show me. They might not always seem like declarations of love to the untrained eye, but any man who puts up with my weirdness about changing lightbulbs, filling my car with petrol, going to the post office, and crying at Bake Off is a keeper in my book.
He still surprises me. Sometimes by leaping out of the bushes and shouting ‘ha!’which is interesting. Sometimes by doing stuff like randomly turning up when I don’t expect him, like driving from Hastings to London and appearing on top of a multi-storey car park to play crazy golf with me, just because he missed me.
He understands that it is important to keep me regularly fed, and is not remiss in these duties. He is not the sort to say: ‘Can you wait a bit longer?’ If I declare that I am hungry and that I need to eat. He understands completely that I turn into a raging velociraptor of hideousness if I miss a meal/snack/opportunity to push food into my face. I am like that bit in Gremlins when Gizmo gets wet.
He knows what will make me laugh. He still makes me laugh, a lot. Given that my natural disposition is that of a hungover world dictator with anger issues and a great deal of natural stabbiness, this is important.
He is absolutely happy for me to be exactly myself. Given that we are as different as two people can be, and that he is generally as baffled by me as David Attenborough discovering a new species of hang gliding sloth, I am very grateful.
So, there you have it. We stay married because of these, and a fair amount of other stuff, including the fact that I still can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with, wake up with, grow old with, muck about with, sit next to on the sofa watching crap t.v. with.
Oh, and he has a magnificent beard.