May 12, 2012

A Twenty Year Conversation

May 16, 1992


What did you first notice about me the night we met at the Elephant Walk Pub?

I liked the way you looked in that denim skirt.

It wasn't a skirt.

Sure it was. I remember.

No, it wasn't a skirt. I should remember, I was wearing it. It was a light denim jumpsuit
 cinched in at the waist with a belt.

Really? I could have sworn it was a skirt. Anyway, I remember it looked nice.

Don't you want to know what I noticed about you?

Okay, whatever.

You were very tanned, very smiling, and you talked about yourself too much,
impressing us with your world travels.
But I didn't mind that. I thought you were sweet.

Hm.

Do you remember our first date?

Yes, I had tickets through work to the premier of that film made in Vancouver. 

The one with Gene Hackman and that woman on the train. Was it called Sudden Impact?

No, no, that's a Clint Eastwood movie. I think it was called Narrow Margin.

Oh right. Yes, you're right. I was so nervous. I didn't really want to go on a date. I was supposed to be concentrating on my studies. And then you came along.

Well, it happens like that sometimes.

Yes, yes it does. And then we fell in love.

Yes, and then you spent all my money. On cheesecake.

Well, I'm sorry about that. It was a small price to pay for my undying
love and devotion, though, don't you think?

Maybe.

Oh, ha ha. Very funny. Sigh...

What is it?

I was just thinking. Twenty Years. Wow! Where has the time gone?
I know exactly where the time has gone. Four kids, a few moves, and just, you know, LIFE.

But, it has been good, hasn't it?

Yes. I've been very happy with you, you know.

You make me sound like a vacuum cleaner.

Well, you have become rather useful.

Oh, now who's the funny one?

Shhhh...the show's about to start. Where are you going?

To the kitchen.

(Popcorn pops and I hear the hiss of a beer being opened and poured into a glass)

Another Saturday night, another murder mystery.

Yup.

Just the way we like it.

Happy Anniversary, Sweetie.

Happy Anniversary to you, too.

(clink, smooch)

Now, sssshhh...

12 comments:

  1. Men cannot remember that clothing stuff simply because it isn't important to us. And you darn well know this
    Women spend ages wrapping gifts in much the same way. Men believe the gift is what's under the wrapper. This if it enters the mind at all, and quite frankly it normally doesn't.

    How on earth did you allow that tie ?.

    Congrats to you both.

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  2. Well, Vince, you aren't telling me anything I don't already know...which is why I wrote about it:) This post is sort of a one act comedy, or meant to be.
    And I loved that tie! It was 1992 after all.
    Thanks very much for the wishes.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah it was wasn't it, not 1972 :-D.

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  3. Aw, that was so SWEET! But not sappy sweet, just sweet sweet. What a nice way to post the occassion.

    You two really look happy in that photo. But not fake happy, just genuinely happy happy.

    Happy 20th!!

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  4. Ha! Happy anniversary!


    That sounds very familiar.


    Sorry it's late - blogging is inerrupted by work so much these days......

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks ever so much, Al.
      And I hear ya!

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  5. OH! Rebecca! It sounds perfect! Or, at our house we say "near perfect" 'cause there is ALWAYS room for improvement!

    Happy Anniversary! HERE >>> is to MANY, MANY more years of marriage! Congratulations!

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  6. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!!!! We share one, don't you know. I thought of you that day, and I have meant to get here to say congratulations.

    I love this post. Oh, and the picture. It is so married. I am also comforted knowing that I have now be married long enough to totally appreciate that conversation.

    Again, congratulations!

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    Replies
    1. Thanks Jill and Tracey! And I agree...there is always room for improvement.

      It's good to hear from you, Tracey! I hope you had a great celebration, too with your husband.
      Maybe you can let me know what you've been up to one of these days. Happy summer to you and yours.

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