Six years ago today I married a man who uses words like apotheosis in everyday conversation and talks cutesy talk to the pets; who recites poems in French to the dog at 7:30 in the morning and drinks beer out of a can; who sweeps the house every day and mops/vacuums every week; whose music collection includes AC/DC, Johnny Cash, and the Pixies; who hates replacing a full trash bag with an empty one to the point that he will delicately balance his trash on top of the almost overflowing pile of trash rather than taking out the damn trash; who loves my mom and always encourages her to extend her visits to us; who listens to hard-core rap and teared up at the end of Monsters, Inc., when Sully said goodbye to Boo — a guy who is basically all-around delightful.

For the past five years we’ve spent our anniversary having dinner at the hotel where we got married and had our picture taken in front of the fireplace in the lobby where we had the cocktail hour. This year we are taking a hiatus from that tradition and are grilling steaks at home and will try to take a picture of us and the dogs and thanking whatever higher power that led me to the temp job at his company and the fact that six years later we still make each other laugh.