Ten Years Today

It is ten years to the day since I first met Husband.

I was going to write a post about the night we met (a romantic and improbable tale) to mark the occasion prior to us putting on our glad rags and escaping the infants for a night on the tiles which we agreed should include  small expensive items on snooty menus and late night dancing at a dark, loud nightclub, but then this morning Husband inconveniently fractured his leg.
He can barely walk and is in some pain so we’ve decided to postpone this particular celebration until he is able to show his considerable dancefloor skillz. I know he feels terrible, and not slightly foolish about this, but I actually don’t mind at all. In fact, not too long after we met he fell off a rock (long story) and ended up tearing all the ligaments in his right ankle just prior to the first long weekend (Valentine’s, no less) I was due to spend chez-lui in Fontainebleau, near the famous forest.
He was devastated – he’d had a full itinerary of hiking, cycling, bouldering and other outdoor pursuits planned for us, but I was delighted – we could stay in bed, drink champagne, make love and eat cheese.

What else do you do in France in February?

The visit was a roaring success. I wish I’d known which rock he’d slipped on – I would have kissed it like the Blarney stone.

We booked a little restaurant around the corner for Valentine’s day dinner which was on the Monday.  That evening, though, the skies were pelting with rain so hard that just to walk a few steps meant one’s feet were soaked and any semblance of a hairstyle was ruined, even under an umbrella, after more than a quick dash to the car.
Husband insisted on driving me right to the door of the restaurant. He escorted me inside, settled me at my seat and promised he’d be back as soon as he found a spot for the car.

After about fifteen minutes he returned. I looked up from the table to see him standing in front of me,  his coat and crutches soaking wet.

You look absolutely beautiful he said

It emerged he’d been unable to find a space and had ended up driving home, parking in front of his flat and hobbling back on his torn ankle.
He’d suspected this might happen but his priority had been to keep me warm and dry.

This is the man I’m going to marry I thought.

And I was right.

So if you’re reading this, Husband (and I think you probably are a secret subscriber) I REALLY don’t mind that we’re not going out dancing.

I have some cheese and there may even be a bottle of champagne knocking around somewhere.

As to the leg, well, what can I say?  We’ve been here before..

Happy Anniversary, darling. Here’s to ten more xo