The first year I wished my wife a happy (dating) anniversary, I knew the only people reading this knew our story—hi Sully Ray!!—and that he, err, they would get a kick out of the trip down Meta Lane. Last year, I was fairly confident I’d doubled my non-family, non-friend readership, but that still meant 50 percent would enjoy a retelling of our tale.
So here it is, year three of Defiantly Dutch and, as of some point tonight, year 16 of me and the wifey, and for a variety of reasons, readership has at least quadrupled from 2008 levels. Yippee! But with such a vast audience at my disposal, I run the risk of turning the annual retelling of our first date and how I knew as soon as I heard Weezer’s “Buddy Holly” that I was about to go on a date with the woman I’d marry into the online version of Patty and Selma’s vacation slide show. Either you’re family and you’ve seen it a million times and you don’t care, or you’re not family and you don’t care. The sound you hear is people closing out this window.
But hey, it’s my blog, so I’m commemorating the anniversary again! And plus, if I don’t note the enormity of today, my mother-in-law will wonder if we’re getting a divorce or something.
However, I won’t subject you to the same stories, so if you’re interested in seeing our slide show—I mean, reading our story—click the links above. And if you’re one of the new young readers who discovered me via Twitter—that crazy new-fangled thing all the kids are listening to on their 8-track players—I thought you’d like to know that 16 years ago last night, I confirmed the details of our date by calling Michelle. On a PAY PHONE. Google Images it, D.C!
And then, during semester break, we chatted once a week on the real phone and sent letters to each other. Real, live, actual handwritten letters that we put into envelopes, stamped, took to the post office and dropped in a mailbox. And then, a few days later, the Pony Express delivered the letter to the other’s door, unless of course the mailman died of dysentery. So take your cell phones and text messaging and emails and Skype and get off my lawn!!!
Where was I? Oh right. Happy anniversary honey! Most guys are married to women who barely tolerate sports, but I’m married to someone who gets grumpy on the rare occasions she can’t join me at a game. Thanks for constantly reminding me that I outkicked my coverage (a football analogy tonight—sneaky!). You still can’t wear my new Hofstra basketball polo though.