Monday, October 09, 2006


Today is the second anniversary for Mrs. SFC B and I. I wish I could say I had something wonderful planned, but I don't. I did last year and it didn't go well. However I highly recommend everyone drives a Porsche Boxster during their life.

Mrs. SFC B and I first met on the first Thanksgiving after 9-11. It was a weird time in my life. A relationship was drawing to a close. I'd been hit by a car while on my first motorcycle. And I was drinking Scorpion Bowls at a Chinese buffet on Thanksgiving Day. Not exactly traditional. Mrs. SFC B walked in with a mutual friend. She was cute and I was very dorky, however she decided to talk with me and asked about the shreadded shoulder on my jacket. It was because of the aforementioned accident. Any possible connection was blocked though when another mutual friend decided that was the moment to show the world what he'd had for dinner (pimentos were involved). 151 is a harsh mistress.

Time passed, we never talked and I, honestly, hadn't thought about her. There was other things in my life at the time. Christmas rolls around and then New Years. It was at a New Year's Eve party where I saw her in full light and she was gorgeous. I can't explain in detail why she was beautiful to me because, well, Mrs. SFC B will hit me if I do. Suffice to say I thought she was heavenly. As I prepared to leave I summoned the courage to ask for her number (in a very suave way if I say so myself) and she was drunk enough to actually give me her real number.

Our first date was at a Joe's American Bar and Grill and it was as akward as any other first date I'd ever had, yet for some reason she didn't block my number and move three states away. This was different and encouraging. Over the next few months we went out several times. She dug my new motorcycle and the fact I was a man in uniform. To this day I tell male prospects that chicks dig the uniform.

Our wedding was an interesting event. The day was beautiful and seeing her in her dress, walking down the aisle made my heart go a bit a flitter. It's not like I'd never seen her looking stunning before, but that was a moment where... well... I'll remember it long after I've forgotten my own name. I don't remember much about the ceremony after that. Some poetry was read; I didn't get it. I don't even remember my vows. I'd written them myself and spent the night before the wedding memorizing them, but the effort to say them slowly, clearly, and correctly also wiped them from my memory. I'm very sad for that loss. Photos were taken, lots of photos were taken, and that is also fuzzy. The next clear moment I have is the first dance.

I'm going to take a serious beating in the office for admitting this but the song we first danced to was "Your Song" from Moulin Rouge. My memory goes from wonderful loving thoughts to sheer abject terror at the thought of having to dance in front of my friends, family, rater, and senior rater the moment Ewan MacGregor goes "My gift is my song." However by some miracle I made it through without hurting anyone.

The cake was delicious. Three layers, green frosting, and something with rum. And to my uncle's delight Mrs. SFC B and I didn't do the "mush cake into each other's faces" thing.

I love my wife. I don't always show it as I should, and I've often been weak and petulant and made a fool of myself. I'm a terribly fortunate man to have found Mrs. SFC B. When she smiles it's a brilliant, bright thing capable of lighting up a dark room. The cheeks rise, the lips part, and an expression of pure joy comes from her eyes. I'll go to great ends to get her to smile. Her eyes, when not radiating joy, are a shade that's from the coffee family. Maybe her eyes are coffee colored because her blood is about .05% coffee after a life getting Dunkin' Donuts through an IV. Her ears are capable of hearing things in music that I didn't even know existed. Her passion for music, and her knowledge of music are both endless. She knows songwriters for Christ's sake. Where I'm happy with whatever comes on the radio her iPod is filled with this eclectic crap that would make some over-self-important independent newspaper music reviewer blush at its exhaustivness. I think I made up a word.

Today is a day which I lack the imagination and resources to properly showcase my feelings for Mrs. SFC B. While searching though images which capture the essence of my love I found the below image. It's perfect. I saw it and was held in rapture. A dawn like that might be seen once and I was lucky to find a way to see it every day.


Post a Comment