Steve And Shellie Sitting In A Tree . . .

My Dear Wife,

Even after (or especially after) being together for 27 years, you are still cute as a button to me. You still look amazing when I glance over to sneak peeks at your profile. I still see the sweet, young (languishing) woman I fell in love with.

Of course, I have a vested interest in letting you sail out the door each morning knowing that your man thinks you're the cat's meow, and getting through the day at work secure in the knowledge that your husband loves you unconditionally, and that a sway of your hips can still give me palpitations. And that vested interest is your happiness.

You are the love of my life, my friend, my lover, my soulmate, my partner in crime, my Abigail to your John Adams.

I love when we are kissing and rub noses, not little Eskimo kisses, but rubbing our noses side to side and up and down.

Neither of us were virgins when we first made love, but neither of us had experienced the Big O until the first time we had sex that left our legs trembling and you screaming into your pillow. I have always loved making you scream into your pillow.

I still remember our first kiss like it was yesterday. We were sitting in the car, in the parking lot, after Jodie and Dr. Bernstein's Christmas party, where I hobnobbed with various chieftains of industry and other important and interesting people (as usual). I looked at you and asked if I could kiss you. I could see in your face that you knew we were crossing a line that we could never cross back over, but you said yes, and we did, and there was no going back, only forward. It was all we could do to keep our clothes on (we were both dressed to the nines) right then and there, but did we make love for the first time that night?

I remember making out with you, again in the car (what car was that?), again in a parking lot, but this time at a park, where we drew the attention of a group of cat-calling, wolf-whistling teenage boys, who I am sure wanted me to share the wealth.

I remember spending that stolen weekend in the hotel when our lives were topsy-turvy, the dinner we had overlooking the Illinois River at the Bluegrass Festival (and subsequently winning a prize for my essay), and hunting all over Disney World for a belt to keep my pants up (not that keeping my pants up was always your first priority).

I have loved the sex with you, the foreplay, the fulfillment, the crescendos.  I have loved my life with you. I have loved our marriage. I have loved never straying (all my flirtations, with everything on two legs, and some on four, notwithstanding), and I have loved honoring our commitment.

Has our marriage always been easy? No. Has it always been hard? Yes. But kissing your tender dupa has always made it worth it.

I am hopelessly, helplessly in love with you, and as I always do on the occasion of our wedding anniversary, I renew my vows to you in my heart, in my mind, and in my soul. I do not believe in a conscious afterlife, but I do believe that a love such as ours lives on.

Love, Your Husband

Somonauk, Illinois

Friday (we were married on a Friday) October 25th, 2013