11 years and counting...

As I write this, I've been married for exactly 11 years, 4 months, 20 days, 4 hours, and a handful of minutes (but who's counting, right honey?)

Enter my friend, Jeanette, and her husband Paul.

This week I've been recruited to help their children plan their 50th wedding anniversary reception. That's right, 50...the one after 49 and before 51. The big 5-0. The only parties I've ever planned were my own kids' birthday parties and maybe a couple of other scattered events, so I obviously have no clue what I'm doing.

I mean, I did attend my own grandparents' 50th anniversary when I was like 6. Of course, what I remember the most was the disgusting fact that their church didn't have an indoor bathroom. My mom was pregnant with my little sister, it was sweltering hot in the middle of August, and there wasn't a flushing toilet. Good gosh. It's a good thing blogging didn't exist back in 1981 because that one afternoon alone would have given me years of bitching material.

Anyway, oh yes, back to the reception.

I first met Jeanette about 4 years ago during a praise team practice at church, and I've been singing with her ever since. Her husband Paul is probably one of the rowdiest people I've ever come across...ever. He tells inappropriate jokes, which I usually don't understand at all. I suppose that either means I'm too mature or simply too naive to understand his humor. Unfortunately for me, it probably means the latter. And I learned a long time ago NEVER again to ask him, "What's Up?" He'll seriously tell you.

Jeanette is right the opposite. She is soft-spoken, mild-mannered, and her shoes and purse always match. She has great skin, and her fingernails are always painted to match her matching shoes and purse. I seriously want to be like her when I grow up, but something tells me I'll be more like Paul instead.

They are the cutest couple, and I'm glad to help, but all week long I've been trying to wrap my little brain around the concept of 50 years. That's 17 years longer than I've even been alive. They make it look easy.

So, (raising my glass) here's to disagreements about why the mayonnaise DOESN'T have to go in the exact same spot in the refrigerator every time you use it, and discussions about why yes, we DO have to wash washcloths more than once a week. Ken, if my math is right, we only have 39 years, 6 months, 10 days, 20 hours and a few minutes left until our golden anniversary, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend it with (but if I was FORCED to choose, it would be a toss-up between Brad Pitt, McSteamy, or that new painter guy on Desperate Housewives.)

Just kidding, honey :) See you in 2047.