Barbie's Dream

     I have a ritual when I get home in the mornings while Patrick is still nestled in the warm comfy blankets of our old tired bed. I stop by the bathroom door to tease the puppies behind the gate, then stumble my way through the dark while tripping on dog toys, to sit gently next to my handsome sleeping husband on the bed, lightly run my fingers through his distinguished salt and pepper hair while admiring his boyish good looks, and gingerly lean over to fart on his head softly kiss his forehead so he can have a sweet awakening before the screeching alarm is snoozed. He's a real peach in the morning too. Crabbier than a boiling lobster at a steak house.
      My man defies the odds. When I use him as a pillow for my naps and leave a ring of slimy drool love liquid on his shirt big enough to form a small bird bath, he never admits to it's gross factor. And I routinely turn native, if you will, allowing my mammoth ancestor's hair to reign free and proud on many other places than my noggin. He still claims I'm a sexy beast. We still share the same bed and sleep under the same blanket at night despite my frequent history of being cover-hogging aggressive, a slightly abusive dreamer, and performing nightly sit-ups while asleep. He still says I'm perfect despite all my flaws. I obviously care more about writing in my blog than contributing to washing a dish, but my left hand man always picks up the slack for his left hand women. (Get it? "Left" is the hand your wedding ring resides.) He must REALLY love me.     
     To the man that's strong enough to stay head over heals in love with a hard headed, bossy but well-intentioned, sloppy but organized, procrastinator that likes to get things done (whenever she gets good and ready), and a wild and crazy, but not too crazy girl like me:
     You're the chips to my salsa.
     I love you more. More than words could ever say. More than light could fill the day. More than nutella on my blueberry toast. I bet you know I love you most. Most of the days that end in "y". Most of the molecules that roam the sky. Most of the time you don't need a spy, 'cause you're my one and only guy. I love you more than most could know. My boasting is worthy 'cause  I ain't no Ho.........fooooool. Lets raise a toast and skinny dip in the pool, to the day we vowed 'till death do us stool?..........no.......no, that's not right. What did we say that happy memory of a day? 'Till death do us fart?.........no, that couldn't be the one. It's on the tip of my tongue. Oh yes! I remember now..........'Till death do us part!
     (Now back to the toast) You're the best kind of friend a person could want. The best kind of lover, the only I've got. Barbie couldn't dream of a better Ken doll. I love you forever, crabby mornings and all!
     Happy Anniversary, my love.