The title of this was a title text for a link to my blog on Bazima‘s page.
Hmmm. How do I talk about my wife?
She’s in my heart, she’s in my soul, she’ll be my breath when I grow old, she is my lover, she’s my best friend …
Yeah, and then some.
I’ve been friends with Margie for many, many years, far longer than we’ve been involved romantically. And I’m really glad of that, because it’s made our romance all the richer.
She takes the places where I’m stronger and makes me even more so. She takes the places where I’m weak and makes me strong. She’s clever, she’s funny, she laughs at my jokes, she’s tolerant of my foibles and habits and esoteric interests (and brings enough of her own to the mix to keep things interesting), she’s a wonderful cook, and, frankly, she’s great in the sack.
She enjoys enough of the things I do to be someone I can spend lots of time with, but not so much that we end up in big trouble buying a life-sized Vorlon Encounter Suit or something like that for a zillion dollars on eBay.
She’s an excellent hostess and a wonderful mother to our daughter. She’s good at talking to vendors. She’s good at reminding me of things I need to do without being a nag. She’s good at pitching in when there’s hard work to do. She’s an enjoyable traveling companion. She’s an interesting conversationalist.
She’s my confidante. She’s the person I can be honest with, who will baby me when I need babying and give me a swift kick in the ass when I need one.
She stretches my horizons. She persuades me to eat food that I wouldn’t otherwise, and enjoy it, too.
She’s a saint. When she’s good, she’s very, very good. And when she’s bad, she’s better.
She’s wise, and sensuous, and cheerful and patient. She’s an inspiration, and a support, and a goal to aspire to, and someone I can care for and cherish.
She’s my right arm. And I hope that I can be hers, too.
As I enter a new year, and approach our seventh wedding anniversary (this April), and the twenty-first (I believe) year I have known her, I lift my glass on high to her, and I give you all Marjorie Lucia Kleerup.
Damn, am I lucky.