I married the love of my life, my Sweet Babou, 18 years ago today.
I know it looks like I snatched him from a high school dance, but he was actually 25. I thought he was just the cutest young man I’d ever seen. Now, after three children and a lot of water under the bridge, his once black hair is mostly salt with a little pepper, and he no longer looks like a teenager. Nonetheless, I still think he’s just the cutest man in the whole, wide world.
For our anniversary we went to the Blue Anchor Inn, the same pub we visited during our honeymoon. It not only serves tasty food, it is a venerable old building — established in 1380. In short, the ideal place for history buffs to celebrate the reoccurrence of their nuptials.
Ironically, we also had a replay of our first date while we were there. We were reminiscing fondly about the fact that Sweet Babou had broken my toe while trying to open the door for me during our inaugural dinner (one of may things that went wrong for him that night!) when he bumped the table and showered me with his glass of cider.
The staff of the Blue Anchor must have thought we were insane, because we laughed like loons about it. It was a perfect reminder of the night we fell in love all those years ago, and a perfect way to celebrate our anniversary. Then they caught us snogging in a corner. Good times!
Never change, Sweet Babou. I love you just the way you are, and I cannot wait to see what you break or pour on me next year … and hopefully for the next 50 years!
