It was 21 years ago today . . .

that I and my big old permed head walked down that aisle and said "I do" to Grizzly Adams.

We've toned down on the hair since then.

Having dated, been engaged and lived together before this magic moment, we have been together for a total of 25 years. That's a quarter century of masochism for this man. I don't know how he has stood it. Checks and balances, perhaps. I'm not taking finances here.

I do recall after being together for about two years, but before our engagement, we had a discussion of who was going to do what in our relationship. He had just tossed his iron at the wall. I think I had just eaten my last meal in a cockroach-infested kitchen across town. He was never going to do laundry again, and I was never going to cook again. We've broken these vows just a few times. Once, after we had moved in together, he washed all of my nice white shirts that I wore to work (back in those office days). They turned out yellow. He's never told me why. When he went to get his doctorate and was gone a couple of evenings a week, I was forced have something on the table (food, not me) when he returned. Sheer torture. For both of us I think.

I've learned to change lightbulbs. He's learned never to turn on the clothes dryer when there's a bird stuck in the duct. He's never learned to rinse his cereal bowl. I'm forever clueless about what to do with shoes after I take them off.

I still get flowers though. From him. Sometimes they're yellow. I don't like yellow. I don't think he remembers. I don't think he ever will. And, frankly, I have no idea what color flowers he likes. Ah, the mysteries of marriage.