It was two years ago today that I married my farmer.
For two whole years, I have been putting up with him sticking his tongue out in every picture we take together.
Including on our wedding day.
I've been embarrassed by his rendition of the moonwalk in neon bowling shoes during a night out in Colorado.
I've been the subject of his pranks. Like the time he and my brother strapped me in the roll-away bed at our hotel in New York City.
And I've put up with his always being late, never taking out the trash, and not celebrating or so much as mentioning birthdays, holidays and anniversaries.
Although I did get a text from him exactly at 12:00 am this morning that said "Happy aneversary." I will forgive his spelling because that text message is a huge gesture for him.
He makes up for it all when he plays his guitar for me. Okay, so he doesn't exactly sit there and sing to me while gazing into my eyes. But I don't think there is a living, breathing woman out there who wouldn't go for a guy who can play and sing.
I am still hopelessly in love with my farmer. As much crap as I put up with, he probably has to put up with more. Like the fact that the majority of my blog centers around poking fun at him (hey, a girl's gotta get her material somewhere). Or that I am not exactly the skinny tan blond he met six years ago.
In the words of his dad, "I wouldn't want him to hear me say this ... but you're both pretty lucky."
Alright, enough sap. I'm about to make myself puke in my mouth with all this lovey-dovey talk.
And they all said it wouldn't last.
Well, okay, no one said that. But it sounds good. And it makes a great caption for this ridiculously funny candid pic from our wedding day. Boy do I look evil.