Two years ago, today — right at this moment, in fact — I stood on a secluded sand bar in Kieselhorse Slough and promised to love, cherish, and have fun with my husband forever. The only catch was a slight clause in our marital contract that indicated that my dog Fred is in no way now his dog, although I’m pretty sure Freddy would disagree.
We definitely weren’t the only ones who chose to snag the 9-10-11 date, although our day wasn’t quite as popular as 12-12-12 seemed to be. I mean, it’s easy to remember, right? My birthday is two days later, so honestly, if Chris forgets our anniversary, it’s clear he’s also forgotten my birthday, and we’ve already set up a system for how that situation would be handled. (Not pretty.)
We’ve had an absolute blast over the last two years. The only problem? We haven’t gone on our honeymoon yet.
At what point in time does a delayed honeymoon become just an old married couple’s getaway? I don’t think we have hit that moment yet, but it does seem to be looming. For two years, every few months, we start a tentative plan — just a weekend trip, not too far, something that we can actually manage with our busy schedules. And every few months, something comes up and the honeymoon is off the table.
Not this time. This time, we are going somewhere. Even if all we end up doing is eating an ice cream cone in Sparta, it will be done with the exuberance of the newly wed. I’m going to giggle. I’m going to make him kiss me. In front of the teenaged boy working the Sparta ice cream counter. Ha!
Nothing against Sparta, but I don’t really want to go there. The only “event” I can find on the Internet going on in Sparta is an update on the city’s new sewer back-up ordinance, which, despite being so planning and zoning -esque, I’ll pass on. I’m thinking maybe Black River Falls. Apparently there is something called “Molly’s Rude Awakening Local Funky Junk Festival” in Black River Falls this weekend. Hmmmmmm. Perhaps a stint in Viroqua? The Vernon County Fair is heating up….
Somehow, not having a real plan in place for this late-in-marriage honeymoon is kind of romantic. We don’t have a checklist, we’re not late for the Funky Junk band, we’re just driving off into the sunset knowing we’ll have fun no matter what happens. That, I think, is really what marriage is all about — promising that, no matter what happens, we’re going to be there together, laughing at our inside jokes, reddening the faces of every teenaged ice cream counter boy we meet.
Tonight, we’ll have the home-cooked dinner date. Tomorrow, he will get to read this column and come up with a rebuttal to the ice cream boy joke. Thursday will be my birthday. (Who knows.) Friday is what we have come to know as Freddy the Thirteenth. (That is a rare and complex event best left to another column.) Then finally — finally!! — the honeymoon.